


Star Wolves: Return of the Werewolf

by elizaham8957



Series: Star Wolves [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Star Wars AU, in the middle of a war, is this basically just stydia being cute with a war in the background, it's fine okay, secondary scallison, stydia is the established relationship for the record
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-03-17 02:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: Scott Skywalker has returned to his home planet of Tatooine in an attempt to rescue his friend Stiles Solo from the clutches of the vile gangster Jackson the Hutt.Little does Scott know that the Galactic Empire has secretly begun construction on a new armored space station even more powerful than the first dreaded Death Star.When completed, this ultimate weapon will spell certain doom for the small band of rebels struggling to restore freedom to the galaxy…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, friends, to the final installment of the Star Wolves series. This one is the longest of all, and also maybe my favorite in the series. I just wanna preface this by saying that this fic was totally an excuse for me to write established relationship Stydia in the middle of the Star Wars universe. 
> 
> A huge thanks to everyone who has been reading these, everyone who's helped me out and encouraged me, and everyone who's listened to me rant endlessly about this series that has consumed my life for the past two years. I can't believe this is the end! 
> 
> I would love to know what you think! I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you wanna talk, or if you want to see the hilariously bad edit I did for this (I can't use photoshop, okay guys. I'm tryin my best.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Enjoy!!

Before coming to this planet, Lydia had never really realized how much she truly hated sand.

It was _everywhere._ In her clothes, in her hair, under her fingernails, in her sheets at the seedy hotel they were staying at, in Threepio's joints, in Chewie's fur, everywhere. Lydia didn't know how Scott had done nineteen years surrounded by this grit and grain, but she'd been here barely two standard months and it was already on her nerves.

Lydia was supposed to be sleeping— tomorrow was the big day— but she laid awake on her stiff mattress, coarse sand caught in between her toes, her nerves a tightly wound bundle in her stomach. She hadn't heard from Danny in days, since he'd commed to tell her the droids were in place, but she supposed no news was good news, and they were to go forward with the plan. She'd relayed the information back to Scott, who had left Dagobah this morning, and everyone had been radio silent since.

The suns had set hours ago, but the heat still cloaked Lydia like a thick, heavy blanket, making it even more impossible to sleep. Allison dozed easily in the adjacent cot, her blankets tossed haphazardly on the floor, her snores light enough that Lydia barely heard them.  But sleep wouldn’t come to Lydia: she tossed and turned in the uncomfortable bed, trying to drift off— like that wasn't already hard enough for her— knowing that she'd need the energy if they were going to pull this plan off.

Lydia turned over again, wondering how the rebels were faring without her. The past two months had been the longest (and first) military leave she'd ever taken since officially joining the Rebellion, and out here in the sandy wastelands of Tatooine, it was pretty difficult to get a transmission in to Morell, back with the fleet.

The past year had been a waiting game— waiting for Scott to come back from Dagobah, waiting for Danny and Chewbacca to get any clue as to Stiles's whereabouts, waiting for the Rebels to reconvene and lick their wounds and come up with a new plan of attack. It had driven Lydia crazy, all this _waiting_ — with none of her friends around and nothing to distract her from the fact that none of her friends were around, she'd been more tense the past year than ever before while in military command. Though Allison had been a light in the dark— after Scott had left, the other girl had explained to Lydia about her family and her past, and how she wanted to help set things right. While Lydia had a feeling that Scott had put her up to checking in on Lydia, she wasn’t complaining— the two had become good friends in the past year. Having someone to talk to had _certainly_ helped the wait for information on Stiles.

Finally, _finally_ , about three months ago, Danny and Chewbacca had managed to track down Stiles. Jackson mainly lived on Tatooine, though no one but his inner circle really knew where— ironically, Stiles was the only one of them that knew where Jackson's palace was. When Danny had worked with Stiles, he and Chewie had never gone back to Jackson's palace with Stiles after a run— they'd have to stay and guard the ship, while Stiles went to collect their payment. They'd scoured the entirety of Tatooine, until finally they'd found the hideaway in the middle of the Dune Sea, only accessible by a winding road through a dangerous canyon that was definitely a full day's walk. The thought of the walk ahead of her tomorrow should have made Lydia sleep, but still, she tossed restlessly.

The moment Chewie and Danny discovered the place, they'd sent transmissions to Scott and Lydia, and a plan had been developed. Now well set up and underway, Lydia prayed to any god in the galaxy listening that they were able to pull this off.

It had been a year, and she couldn't do it anymore. She needed Stiles back by her side.

***

Scott jumped out of his X-Wing, grimacing at the squelching noise his feet made as the marshy ground squished beneath him. As much as he enjoyed learning from Talia, he wasn't going to miss this jungle much.

Lydia had just sent him the message— Danny had reported to her that the droids were in place, and the plan was in motion. He had probably three standard days until Lydia and Allison went in— they had considered a plan to get Stiles out by themselves, but they had finally decided that Scott and his werewolf powers were an asset they shouldn't ignore. 

He tramped through the swampy terrain from his ship back to Talia's small hut in the jungle. He could see her sitting by the hearth as he entered, her robes wrapped around her, and Scott couldn't help but notice how much more tired she looked. Every day since he'd come back, she'd looked paler, more exhausted, more fragile; it scared Scott, how this powerful Jedi could suddenly look so... worn down and _frail._

“Lydia just commed,” Scott told her. “The droids are in place.” He paused. “I have to leave in a few days, to help them,” he added, as an afterthought.

Talia didn't put up a fight— she just nodded. “Your training is complete,” she said quietly, and even though she looked worn down, her eyes still held all the power and wisdom they had the day Scott had met her.

“Am I officially a Jedi now?” he asked, grinning. Talia rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “Were you going to run off to save your friends without a weapon?”

“Well,” Scott said sheepishly, “I don't have a lightsaber anymore, but I do have a blaster.”

“Jedi don't use _blasters,”_ she said bitterly. “The only thing I have left to teach you is how to construct your own weapon. You have to build your own lightsaber.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Scott asked skeptically. Call him crazy, but there weren't exactly lots of metal scraps or power cores or anything lying around, waiting to be turned into lightsabers.

“We'll find you the parts you need,” Talia said, waving her hand faintly. “But you still need something to power it. Most Jedi used very rare kyber crystals, which are mostly found in the hidden caves on Ilum, or on Jedha. Sith will forge synthetic crystals, which are more powerful, but also more dangerous.”

“So where am I supposed to get a kyber crystal?” Scott asked. “Jedha was destroyed years ago by the Empire. Do I have to go to Ilum?” That would definitely put a damper in their rescue mission. Ilum was on the complete other side of the galaxy.

“No,” Talia said, and she surprised Scott, reaching for _her_ lightsaber. “I want you to have mine.”

“Yours?” Scott asked incredulously. “But— what about your lightsaber?”

“Scott, I'm old,” she cut in. “Too old for this. I don't need this anymore.” She gestured to the weapon in her hand, the last of its kind, just like them. “But _you_ — you are the first of a new generation of Jedi, that, after this war, you can train to restore peace in the galaxy and the Force.” She twisted the hilt of her lightsaber, and it came apart in her hands, revealing a brilliant, tiny crystal in the center power core, shining brighter than the two suns on Tatooine. She plucked it out carefully and handed it to him. “It seems only right that you have this crystal. I am the last of the old generation, and now, with this, I pass the ways of the Jedi on to you. The entire Jedi Pack will be with you always, in this weapon.”

Scott wordlessly took the crystal from her.

“Thank you,” he murmured gratefully. He looked up from the brilliant gem in his palm to meet Talia's eyes. He hoped she understood how much this meant to him— that she, the greatest of all the Jedi, was trusting him to carry on their legacy. But there was something caught in his throat, a lump of bitterness and self doubt that had been growing and growing since his face-off with Vader on Bespin. Could he be trusted with the Jedi legacy, given who his mother was?

He'd asked Talia briefly about Vader, upon arrival here. She had tersely said it was true, and they hadn't spoken of it since. He was too scared to bring it up again.

“Scott,” Talia said, softly, but sternly. He looked into her eyes, and he could see the truth there— she knew who he was, and she wasn't afraid of him.

“Stop doubting yourself,” she insisted. “And go save your friends.”

Scott nodded his head. Regardless of who his parents were, there was no way Scott was letting down his friends, not now, not ever. He looked down at the crystal in his palm again.

“You better get working on that,” Talia said, smirking. “If your lightsaber's going to be ready in time for you to save your friends from whatever disastrous mess they get themselves into.”

Scott grinned. She was right, he had work to do.

***

Danny wasn't going to lie— the thing that nauseated him the most about Jackson's palace was the smell.

The palace was dark and musty, infused with the smell of rotting flesh in the prisons below and the stink of pungent creatures Jackson kept here as his entourage. Between the Gamorrean guards, the rank stench of the musty prisons below, the pet Kowakian monkey-lizard Jackson had, the bitter smell of spice always present in the air, and the actual Hutt himself, locked up in a palace with no outside light or fresh air or anything, on a planet where it was always at least a hundred degrees in the sun— Danny was slowly suffocating.

He'd been here about two months, posing undercover as a guard in Jackson's throne room, and just seeing what went on here made him wish he'd never worked for or done any favors for the Hutt. Jackson and his posse feasted on endless food and liquor, while bands entertained them with loud music and singing, Jawas fanning them with huge fans of exotic plumage. They would torture fugitives the bounty hunters dragged in for fun, beating them and starving them and locking them up in the prisons below. Almost all the workers here were slaves, forced to feed and serve Jackson and the others while heavy chains hung from their necks. The complete and utter disregard for basic rights and respects made Danny's blood boil. Sure, he'd been involved in illegal escapades before acquiring Cloud City, but this— this was a completely different level.

The worst part, though, was the slave girls.

There were maybe ten or fifteen of them, humans and Twi'leks and Tholothians and other beautiful humanoid sentients, forced into skimpy outfits that barely covered anything, each fitted with a metal collar and heavy chain, so that Jackson could pull them to his side whenever he desired. They'd be forced to dance for the crowd, or stripped naked and paraded around, or handed off to the bounty hunters or guards for the night as reward. Every night they'd be auctioned off to the male sentients in Jackson's posse, except for the Hutt's few favorite girls, who he'd drag off, quite literally, with him.

It made Danny _sick_.

Today was the day that the droids were supposed to be arriving, if everything was going to plan. He'd been secretly passing intel out to Lydia and Allison for the past two months, who had then relayed it to Scott, and based on Danny's inside information, they'd carefully formulated a plan. The girls were staying in Mos Espa right now, learning their parts and preparing for their role in the plan.

Danny couldn't wait for them to get here so that he could get out of here and burn this place to the ground.

It was hot today— too hot for the girls to dance, so they merely lounged around Jackson in their skimpy costumes, fanning themselves with their hands and holding their heavy chains away from their bare flesh. Jackson himself was subdued by the heat, as were most of the other bounty hunters and scum hiding out here— Rodians, Aqualish, a few Dugs and Grans too, all sitting still in the smothering heat.

The little blue Ortolan that directed the band had them playing something soft, more baroque recital-esque than the music they generally played while the girls danced. The heat had sapped everyone's energy— even the creepy-looking Baragwin, and the lizard-like Amani, who generally stalked around, showing off his bounty hunting prizes— three dried-up skulls on a sharp stick— were sullen and still in the corner of the room. A group of Weequay pirates sat at a table, mumbling together quietly. Kate Argent was here too, and Danny had never seen her without her signature Mandalorian armour on, but now she sat sullenly at a table, clothed in just dark pants and a tank top, her blasters in her lap and her chestplate on the floor next to her. Jackson sat silently on his dais, Jawas fanning him, and his favorite slave girl— an emerald-skinned Twi'lek— pulled up close against him.

Danny was anxious, waiting for the plan to be put into motion, so that they could rescue Stiles and get _out_ of here. They should be here today, unless he'd lost count of the days— it felt like he'd been here a lifetime—

Danny surveyed the room of overheated, reeking creatures, desperate for something, anything, to happen to let him know his friends were alright. Something caught his eye, in the dark hallway leading from the throne room to the fortified front door. A gleam of something metallic, gold light bouncing off the dark walls— Danny's heart sped up, hoping upon hope that this was who he thought it was.

“We come bearing a message for Jackson the Hutt,” a metallic voice said, and Danny was positive the voice was C-3PO. If they were here, Lydia and Allison were still okay, and the plan was moving forward. “And—” R2-D2 beeped along, and Danny realized the protocol droid was translating his binary— “a gift.” Threepio paused, evidently confused at whatever Artoo had said. “Gift? What gift?”

Danny heard another voice respond in rough huttese, before Threepio cut in with, “I'm afraid our instructions are to give it to Jackson himself. I'm terribly sorry, he's ever so stubborn about these things.”

The rough voice responded again, before the voices ceased, but Danny could hear metallic limbs moving upon the sandy floor. With very disgruntled beeping, R2-D2 glided around the corner, C-3PO shuffling along behind him. Danny breathed a sigh of relief.  

Jackson's second-in-command, some Twi'lek with pale, sallow skin and long lekku that he wrapped around his neck, led the droids into the throne room, right up to Jackson's dais. Two Gamorrean guards brought up the rear, saliva dripping from their tusked mouths and running down their jowls.

“Just deliver Master Scott's message so we can get out of here, Artoo,” Threepio lamemted. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“What?” Jackson snarled in Huttese, as the music quieted and his slave girl darted away from him, Jackson's grip on her chain loosened. The Twi'lek moved closer to him, whispering something behind his sallow hand. Jackson grunted a response in Huttese, but Danny's grasp of the language was pretty basic, so he missed the phrase.

The Twi'lek said something else, while Artoo twittered nervously in front of the crime lord. “The message, Artoo, play the message!” Threepio snapped in hush tones.

Artoo beeped again, backing up before projecting a shining blue holo in front of him. Suddenly, Scott was standing in the middle of the room, though he looked different than the last time Danny had seen him at the rendezvous point— older, more powerful, clothed in a sleek, all-black ensemble instead of dusty farm clothes or  fighter pilot suits.

“Hello, Jackson,” Scott said, a subtle smirk on his face, and Danny didn't miss the dangerous edge in his tone of voice. “I’m Scott Skywalker,” the holo continued, “Jedi Wolf, and Captain Solo’s friend.” Jackson's eyes narrowed, as whispers raced through the court, alarmed at the mention of the long lost Jedi. “I know you’re mad at Stiles,” Scott continued, and malicious pleasure shined in Jackson's serpent-like eyes, “and I don’t blame you. But I need him more than you do. I’m coming to Tatooine to meet you, so that we can make a deal for Stiles’s life.” Jackson grunted in anger at that, and the court hushed again. “I hope we can settle this without anything getting too messy,” Scott said pleasantly, but even in the holo, Danny could see the aggression in his eyes— he wasn't letting anything happen to his friends, not if he had anything to say about it. “But I’m warning you— I know you’re powerful, but I’m stronger. And I’m coming for my friends. I’m coming for everyone.”

“To show you I don’t want a fight, I have a gift for you— these two droids,” Scott said, his hands sweeping down to indicate Artoo and Threepio.

“What did he say?” Threepio cried in dismay. “Master Scott would never! Artoo, you're playing the wrong message!”

“I'll be seeing you soon,” Scott concluded. “Thank you.”

The holo faded away, and Jackson laughed, clearly amused by Scott's thinly veiled threats. He gestured to the Twi'lek, who herded Artoo and Threepio from the chamber, probably to be fitted for restraining bolts. The court jeered at the message as the orchestral music started again, Jackson's monkey-lizard howling shrilly and his Twi'lek slave girl chained and sitting prettily in front of his sluggish body on the dais.

Danny's eyes slid from the dimly lit crowds of low-lifes to the far wall, the best lit place in the whole castle. Hanging there, harsh lights shining down on it, was the slab of carbonite with Stiles inside, strung up like a painting in a museum.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter 2! It's up a day early because I'm gonna be in Disneyland all day with my parents tomorrow! 
> 
> Eventually (aka once I finish editing the end) I'll start posting two chapters a week, probably, because this story is LONG. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The next two days were just as swelteringly hot, heat storms thundering through every day at noon like clockwork, and the booming cracks of thunder out here in the barren desert were even loud enough to be heard within the heavily fortified palace. The third day was considerably cooler, and Danny was thankful, because today was the day Lydia and Allison were supposed to get here. 

The court was relishing in the cooler weather by making the girls dance for them, and the delicate baroque music of earlier this week was gone, replaced instead by upbeat jazzy tunes; accompanying the band was a Pa'lowick singer, who sang along to whatever they played. Jackson had his Twi'lek girl dancing for him, and she moved around the floor gracefully, despite the chains she was weighed down by. Danny leaned against the wall, tired of being here, tired of this heat, tired of being surrounded by slavers and bounty hunters and all sorts of other horrible sentients. 

He stood straight up, though, as a familiar, outraged howl echoed through the hall from the front entrance. Jackson's Twi'lek majordomo entered the chamber, followed by Chewbacca, who was cuffed and prodded along by two Ubese bounty hunters.

The bounty hunters were short, wearing customary outfits of all dark leather, heads obscured by heavy helmets, their hands sheathed in leathery gloves. Blasters hung by their sides, and one of them prodded the Wookiee along with another blaster, held in their gloved hand. 

Jackson laughed at the appearance of the group in front of him. “Chewbacca,” he jeered in Huttese, and Chewie growled menacingly at him. “I was wondering when someone would drag you in.” His eyes slid from the Wookiee to the slab of carbonite that Stiles was frozen in. “Your pelt will look  _ great  _ hanging up next to your old buddy,” he leered. Chewie, catching sight of Stiles on the far wall, howled in outrage. 

Jackson's snakelike eyes switched over to the bounty hunter detaining Chewie. 

“Where's that translator droid?” Jackson snapped angrily. 

“Oh, right here, sir!” Threepio's voice suddenly sounded from behind the dais, and he shuffled into sight. Danny could see he was fit with a new restraining bolt. “I'm terribly sorry, I was—” 

Jackson cut him off with a sentence, and Threepio turned to the bounty hunters, translating Jackson's statement. 

“The mighty Jackson thanks you for capturing this criminal,” Threepio said. “And he will gladly pay you the bounty of twenty thousand credits.” 

One of the bounty hunters snapped something back in Ubese, their voice rough and low. The language was a strange one— Danny had never heard anyone speak Ubese before— full of clicks and odd syllables. 

“What do they want?” Jackson snarled at Threepio. 

“Fifty thousand, no less,” Threepio replied clinically. Jackson roared in outrage. 

“Fifty  _ thousand?  _ Why?” 

Threepio turned to the bounty hunter again. “The mighty Jackson would like to know why he must pay you fifty thousand.” 

The bounty hunter gave a clipped reply, before pulling something out of their belt pouch. Threepio gasped. “Because he’s holding a thermal detonator!” 

The entire room recoiled, everyone scrambling to get as far away from the bomb as possible. Everyone, that was, except for Jackson, who started to laugh— a low, rumbling, mirthless laugh. 

“This bounty hunter is my kind of scum,” he responded. “I'll pay you thirty thousand. No more.” 

“Jackson makes you a final offer of thirty thousand credits,” Threepio said, “And I do suggest you take it.” 

The bounty hunter considered for a moment, speaking lowly to their companion, before barking out a short response. Threepio gasped in delight. “They accept!” 

Three Gamorrean guards immediately shuffled over, wrestling the chained Wookiee down to the dungeons below. 

“You are welcome to stay in the palace tonight as additional reward,” Threepio translated to the bounty hunters. “Jackson thanks you for doing business.” 

The bounty hunters nodded, before slinking into the shadows of the palace together, silently observing the crowd. 

The music resumed, and Jackson snapped at his girls, urging them out onto the dance floor again. The band started a new, jazzy tune, something you would hear in a nightclub rather than a cantina, and Jackson's Twi'lek girl hesitantly danced out in the middle of the floor again. 

The crowd began to jeer as Jackson began pulling the girl into him, but for the first time since Danny had gotten here, she resisted him, taking the other end of her chain and pulling back fiercely. “No!” she snapped at the Hutt, and Danny could hear the fear and anguish and pain in her voice— she was terrified of her master, but she was sick of being used. 

“Stop it!” Jackson growled in Huttese, pulling harder, but the Twi'lek dug her feet firmly into the ground, refusing to be tugged to his side. 

“I won't let you use me anymore!” she cried, her voice breaking. The band still played, everyone acting as though nothing was happening. 

“Fine!” Jackson roared. He pounded something on his dais with his fleshy fist, and something happened that Danny hadn't seen ever in his time here— the floor opened up. 

The Twi'lek screamed as she fell through the trapdoor, but the camouflaged panel in the floor immediately swung closed again, before Jackson's dais rolled forward. Everyone in the chamber quickly gathered around the large, intricate metal grate in the center of the throne room floor, which Danny had always assumed was for drainage or something— it looked in on a large sandy pit, maybe ten meters below the floor. Clearly, though, that wasn't the case, as everyone was crowding around like something immensely exciting was about to happen there. 

Danny heard metal gears grinding, and then a low, guttural growl that shook his bones, setting his teeth on edge. The girl screamed, terrified and pitiful, and whatever creature was down there with her growled back even more aggressively, the sound reverberating through the throne room. Her screams went silent a minute later, and based on the other noises coming from the pit, as well as the jeers of the crowd, Danny could guess what had happened to that poor girl. 

Once the show was over, Jackson's dais rolled backwards, and he tugged a new slave girl towards him, the band continuing to play. Danny leaned back against the rough wall behind him, exhausted. He couldn't keep this up much longer. Scott and the rest of them had better get there soon. 

***

It was deep into the night when one of the bounty hunters entered Jackson's throne room again.

Everyone was evidently asleep, as the room was deserted. The soft snoring of creatures hidden in crevices of the room and chambers down the hall echoed off the stone walls. The acrid, heated smell of the place wasn't as bad in the cool of the night— once the suns went down it wasn't quite as hot and stuffy here. The bounty hunter moved stealthily, so that no one would hear them.  They crept, wolflike and silent, towards their goal: the carbon slab with Stiles Solo frozen inside. 

Silently, they approached the slab. There were controls on the wall next to it, and they pressed a button, watching as the panel lowered down from the clamps holding it and thudded against the sandy ground. 

They winced at the loud sound, looking over their shoulder to make sure no one heard the slam of the carbon against the floor, before creeping to the side of the slab and turning their attention to the controls. 

The paneling was complicated, with the controls written in a foreign language the bounty hunter didn't recognize— and they knew a lot of languages. They pressed the button that they thought said should defrost the carbon, hopefully, then stepped back, watching the slab in anticipation as the carbon began to defrost. It glowed redder and redder with the heat, before slowly melting away from the person it contained. 

In the shell of the carbonite slab, Stiles Solo was revealed, completely unconscious. Unceremoniously, he fell from the upright slab, sprawling in the sand, the bounty hunter rushing to help him up. 

***

Stiles wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he definitely knew he would not recommend getting frozen in carbonite. 

One second he couldn't feel  _ anything _ , and then all of a sudden, he could feel everything again— but everything felt wrong. His limbs were numb, his mouth felt like it was full of sand, his throat felt like a nexu had clawed it up, and he clearly had very little control over his muscles— he couldn't move his arms very well, or open his eyes, or turn his head. His clothes and hair and skin were dripping wet from the defrosted carbonite, and the air felt harsh on his skin. He was laying in what felt like sand, and it was clinging to his skin, irritating and itchy. 

He tried to move again, and found that his limbs still didn't seem to want to listen to his brain. He still couldn't seem to get his eyes to open. Where  _ was _ he? 

“Relax,” a rough voice said, and he felt hands grasping his torso, guiding him into a sitting position. They leaned him against what felt like a table, but without his vision, he couldn't tell. “You're alright. I freed you from the carbonite,” the voice continued, in low, scratchy basic. The voice sounded unnatural, like it was coming from behind a mask or through a voice changer.

“I— I can't move anything,” Stiles said, panicky, and his voice came out shaky, barely controlled. 

“It's okay,” the voice responded. “You have hibernation sickness. You'll be fine soon.” 

Stiles groped blindly in front of him, searching for the source of the voice. He still didn't have full control of his limbs, and he couldn't see a thing, which didn't help. 

His hand hit a hard mask. 

“Who  _ are _ you?” He didn't recognize their voice at all, and he couldn't imagine anyone— let alone a stranger— coming to rescue him. 

He heard rustling, and the person moved his hand to the side gently. He felt something being placed next to his leg. 

“Someone who loves you,” said the voice, but it was different, it was  _ her _ voice— full of warmth and adoration and a hint of sarcasm, and Stiles's heart almost  _ stopped. _

“Lydia!” he whispered, completely shell shocked, because she was  _ here, _ and all of a sudden he could feel her hands on either side of his face, and he could smell her hair, her flowery shampoo, and then her lips were on his, and she tasted exactly like he remembered, just like she had when the Imperials had pulled him away from her, before he'd been frozen— 

His arms seemed to be working a little bit better, because one of his hands impulsively grasped the back of her head, and her braids, wound close to her head, were so soft, and he couldn't believe she was  _ here, _ this girl that he loved more than anything in the world— 

“You came back for me,” he breathed against her lips, and he could feel her nose tickle his cheek as she nodded her head. 

“Of course I came back,” she replied, laughing a little, as if the thought of her  _ not  _ coming back for him amused her.

“You willingly left the Rebellion?” he joked. “You're not Lydia. What'd you do with her?” 

Haha,” she said sarcastically, her thumbs rubbing at his eyes— they were all crusty, after being squeezed shut for— gods, how long had he been in carbonite? 

He tried to open his eyes again, and to his delight, his brain finally seemed to get the message through. He blinked, eager to see her smiling face in front of him, her strawberry blonde locks, and beautiful green eyes— but instead he saw nothing. Blackness. 

His heart sped up— and not in a good way. “I can't see,” he said, panicky. 

“I know,” Lydia whispered, her voice concerned. “It's the hibernation sickness. It'll come back, don't worry, just—” 

Stiles's pulse was accelerating alarmingly fast. “Lydia,” he managed to get out, “I can't— why—” 

“You've been in carbonite for a year, Stiles,” she said hurriedly. “Your body needs time—” 

“A  _ year?”  _ he choked out. “Oh, gods, oh, kriffing  _ hell—”  _

“Stiles, calm down,” she said commandingly, her voice still soothing. 

“I can't,” he responded. “I— I think I'm having a panic attack.” 

“Shh, calm down,” Lydia soothed, her hands on his face. “Think of something else, okay?” 

“Like  _ what?” _ he hissed. He couldn't think of anything other than the facts that he had been frozen in carbonite for a  _ year _ and his eyes  _ weren't working. _

“Shh,” Lydia said. “Stiles—” And then she was kissing him again, her sweet lips against his, and every thought slipped from his mind, just like every time Lydia kissed him. She broke away a second later, resting her forehead on his. 

It took him a second to realize what she'd done. His pulse was slow. He wasn't freaking out anymore. 

“How'd you do that?” he murmured against her lips. 

“I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack,” she said, and he could  _ tell _ that she was smirking, could practically  _ see _ the look on her face. 

“So when you kissed me—” he started, 

“You held your breath,” she cut in. “Now, if you don't mind, we have to find Danny and Allison and get you out of here.” 

“Where is here?” he asked as she helped him to his feet, her arms wrapped around him and supporting his weight, as his legs still seemed incapable of doing that.

“Jackson's palace on Tatooine, unfortunately,” she replied. 

“Oh, gods,” Stiles moaned. “How did you even get  _ in _ here?” 

“I, uh,” she paused, “dressed up as a bounty hunter and sold Chewie to Jackson? So we kind of need to get him and get out, okay?” 

“You  _ sold _ my first mate?” Stiles stammered. “You know what, you're right, never mind.” 

“Lydia,” another voice hissed, and Stiles almost jumped at the unfamiliar person. Lydia remained unfazed, one arm still wrapped firmly around him. 

“Allison,” Lydia responded. “Did you do it?” 

“Yeah,” the other girl whispered back. “Right where Danny said to put it. Artoo should be able to get it now.” 

“Perfect,” Lydia said, relieved that so far, everything was going according to plan. “You ready to go?” 

“Yes,” Allison agreed, still keeping her voice hushed. 

They were just about to leave when they heard it— a low, rumbling, malicious laugh. 

“What's that?” Lydia asked in hushed tones, at the same time Stiles muttered, “I know that laugh.” 

Lydia glanced around, and the laugh got louder as a dark curtain was pulled back, revealing Jackson and his posse. His monkey-lizard howled from a plush cushion, his shrill cackle echoing louder than the jeers of the other creatures. Next to Jackson, Kate Argent grinned at them, her smile poisonous. 

“Look, Jackson,” Stiles said, gesturing towards the empty wall to their left. Lydia turned him around so he was  _ actually _ facing the Hutt. 

“I was just on my way to see you,” Stiles insisted. “I have your money; I just got kind of caught up in something. It's not my fault,” he insisted, and Lydia couldn’t help it; she snorted. 

Jackson laughed again mirthlessly. “It's too late for that, Stiles,” he replied in Huttese. “I might have forgiven you, four years ago, but we're past that. You're never getting out of here again.” He looked at his Gamorrean guards, and they moved in towards Stiles. 

“I'll pay you double!” Stiles cried desperately. “You're throwing away a fortune, Jackson, don't be an idiot!” 

Jackson waved his fleshy arm at Stiles in disgust, and the guards dragged him off. 

“Get my traitor niece out of here, too,” Kate spoke up, malice in her eyes as she regarded Allison. Allison kept her expression stoic and emotionless as another set of guards tugged her off, falling behind Stiles. 

Lydia stood stock still, guards on either side of her. Her eyes scanned the beings behind Jackson on the platform, and she finally picked out Danny— wearing the low helmet and ornate golden face guard that was customary of Jackson's human guards, he blended right in. She met his eyes, and he nodded at her. This was what they had been counting on. 

“Bring her here,” Jackson said suddenly, and Lydia's attention snapped back to the Hutt. The beefy guards shoved her forward, until she was a mere foot away from Jackson. He licked his slimy lips with his blubbery tongue, and Lydia recoiled in disgust. 

“She'll be a fine replacement,” Jackson snapped at his Twi'lek majordomo. The sallow being nodded, his cruel eyes lighting up.  _ Replacement? _ she thought.  _ Replacement for what? _

Jackson reached out and grabbed her chin with his meaty hand, and Lydia was surprised at how strong his grip was, for such a flabby little arm. She tried to jerk away, but the Gamorreans behind her just shoved her closer.  

Lydia’s eyes darted to Stiles and Allison, both of them being forced down the stairs.  _ This  _ hadn’t been part of the plan. They knew that it would be impossible to get out of here without being captured, so they had worked that into their scheme. But being separated— that had  _ not  _ been something they had counted on. Lydia hoped to god Scott had been right about this and that this whole thing would  _ work, _ because she  _ so _ wasn't sticking around here any longer than she absolutely had to. 

***

Stiles could only base his surroundings on his sense of smell. 

He knew he was in the dungeons now, because the rank, mildewy smell was so strong he could barely breathe. He heard the dripping puddles of water on the ground slosh under his boots as the guards pushed him farther into the prison, before stopping abruptly, pulling him with them. He heard a low, creaking metal sound— a gate being opened— before they shoved him into what he assumed was a cell and slammed the door behind him. 

He stood, completely in the dark, blind to everything in the outside world, and he had never felt more vulnerable. He took a hesitant step forward, feeling for a wall or something, and almost tripped on the uneven ground, his arms flailing. 

“Kriff,” he swore, wishing he could  _ see _ where he was. Maybe then he'd have a chance to get out of here. 

A familiar growl filled the space around him, and Stiles's heart leapt. “ _ Chewie?”  _ he demanded into the darkness, and the next thing he knew, he was being grabbed by a set of furry arms and shaken around. 

“Calm down, Chewie, stars,” Stiles said. “Take it easy— I can't see anything right now, I have hibernation sickness—” 

Chewie stopped shaking him, though his furry paws didn't leave Stiles's shoulders. 

“This is a great plan,” Stiles retorted in the silence. “I'm glad now that instead of being captured, I'm still captured.” 

_ This was part of the plan,  _ Chewie howled. 

_ “What?”  _ Stiles retorted. “You mean all of us getting captured by a crime lord was  _ intentional?”  _

Chewie described briefly what they were doing— basically, they had realized there would be no way to get them out of Jackson’s palace  _ without  _ being captured, so this was all a ploy while Scott was coming to get them all. 

“Scott,” Stiles gasped, remembering the last he had heard of his best friend, he was being lured into Vader’s trap. “He’s okay? He made it out of Cloud City?”

Chewie growled in affirmation.  _ Yes, although barely. We went back to get him. But now he’s finished his training, _ Chewie said.  _ He’s a Jedi Wolf.  _

Stiles almost laughed. Sure, Scott was motivated, and he'd try his hardest at anything, but Stiles was still skeptical about the Force. He hadn't been sure there was really anyone out there to teach Scott. 

“A Jedi Wolf?” Stiles snorted. “Stars, I'm out of it for a little while, everyone gets delusions of grandeur.” 

Chewie growled, assuring Stiles they'd get out of here, before pulling him in in a big, furry hug. 

As scared as he was to be held captive in Jackson's lair and still not be able to see anything, Stiles had to admit, being back with his friend and first mate helped ease his fears quite a bit. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late. Blame job interviews. 
> 
> If you're wondering how much I love Lydia Martin, I rearranged the entire order of events in the first two chapters so she could have one line of dialogue in this instead of giving said line to Threepio. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy :)

Everything had felt different when Scott first returned to Dagobah. 

He'd known he needed to go back— now, more than ever, he was in need of Talia's guidance. Learning about Vader had changed the way he thought of everything— it changed the way he thought about  _ himself _ . 

Talia had been waiting when he had first arrived, and from the look on her face, he could tell she'd already known what happened. Her face had been grave, and he had known, before he even spoke the words, what her answer to his question was going to be. 

“Is it—” Scott had choked on the words, trying to force himself to string together a sentence. “Is she really my mother?” 

Talia hadn't met his eyes. “Yes,” she had said simply, finally glancing up to look at him. “She is.” 

Scott's anger had welled up in him— the hurt, and betrayal, and foolishness he had felt— he'd been walking around worshipping his parents for all twenty two years of his life— and now he had found out his mother was the cold blooded killer oppressing the galaxy? His anger had swelled, and his vision had turned red briefly, before he had taken a step back, shocked at the power he had felt flowing through him. It hadn't been like his wolf powers, though— it was raw, and primal, and fueled by rage. Scott's eyes had widened, and he had quickly tamped down the power inside him, refused to tap into the Force, shutting it out instead. If his mother was one of the most powerful Sith lords known to the galaxy, that power was inside Scott too, wasn't it? He couldn't trust the power in him, put there by Vader. 

He couldn't trust  _ himself.  _

“Stop,” Talia had said quietly, and Scott had known she could sense his emotions, feel the conflict rolling off of him. “Trust yourself, and trust in the Force, Scott. Anything else doesn't matter.” 

“Of course it matters,” Scott had snapped. “My mother is the most evil being in the galaxy, and I can  _ feel _ the power of the dark side in me, and that's just not  _ important?”  _

“If you do not give in to your hate, then it will not matter,” she had replied quietly.  _ “I _ trust you. You should trust yourself too.” 

Talia's words hadn't helped him very much, though. The next day, he had been trying to meditate, but he couldn't clear the image of Vader in front of him, her hand extended, saying “I am your mother” from his head. 

“Focus, Scott,” Talia had said for the upteenth time, and Scott had snapped. 

“I  _ can't _ focus,” he had muttered. “I— everything I knew—” he had paused, angrily huffing. “I've been looking up to my father my whole  _ life _ . I wanted to become a Jedi Wolf because of  _ him, _ after Derek told me. And now—  _ Derek _ is my father, and he  _ lied _ to me, and my mother is—” he paused, anger clouding his vision. “I can't— I don't know what to  _ do, _ now that I know the truth.” 

“What the truth is doesn't matter,” she had responded cryptically. “You know yourself. You don't need your mother to become a Jedi.” 

“I can't channel the Force anymore,” he'd snapped back. “I can't— I don't know how to control it. I can feel all this anger inside of me, and I'm— I don't want to be like her, but what if I can't help it?” 

Talia had moved until she was directly in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders and staring directly into his eyes. “Scott, genetics may give you your powers, but they don't control them. Regardless of where you come from, the only thing that matters now is who you become.” Her eyes had burned bright, vivid red as they bored into his. “And now, you have become a Jedi wolf. Not a sith. A  _ Jedi.”  _

Scott opened his eyes, and desert stretched for miles around him. 

Tatooine was as hot and dusty as he remembered it being. The heat was even more stifling in his new clothing— black pants, black boots, black tunic, black outer cloak. He had quietly refused Talia's offer of traditional Jedi robes— she had said herself, the old Jedi were gone. He was the first of the new generation, and he was going to look it. 

Scott took a deep breath, steeling himself for the mission ahead. It wouldn't be easy— that much he knew. But it was worth it, for Lydia, for Chewie, for Stiles— Talia had told him the old beliefs of the Jedi, how they were to form attachments to no one, and he wasn't big on those either. He was going to rescue his friends, Jedi or not. 

He cleared his mind, channeled the Force— he felt his eyes burn bright, and the electric buzz inside him. He was nervous, but he felt prepared. He was a Jedi Wolf, and he could do this, use his powers for good— regardless of who his mother was. 

Talia's words rang in his head. _ Not a sith. A Jedi.  _

Scott raised his hand and knocked on the door to Jackson's fortress. 

The inside corridor was dark and cool, though cool was definitely a relative term— the palace was cooler than the stifling heat outside, but Scott still felt sweat forming on his brow, the muggy heat creeping into the palace from the desert beyond. Two porcine Gamorreans stood guard by the inside of the heavy door, plated in heavy armor and carrying spears. They immediately moved towards Scott to apprehend him, but he waved his hand slowly, and they stopped, an invisible force pushing them backwards. 

A Twi'lek appeared from the shadows, with pale skin and long dark robes, his lekku wrapped loosely around his neck like a scarf. He must have recognized Scott from the holo he had sent, because his eyes grew large and he snapped in Huttese, “the Master does not want to see you!” 

Scott waved his hand again, replying in Basic. He knew the Twi'lek understood it, even if he wouldn't speak it. 

“I must be allowed to speak,” Scott said calmly. The Twi'lek's suspicion faded into serenity, and his face cleared as he bowed his head, parroting back Scott's words. The Twi'lek swept his arm behind him, turning and leading Scott into the throne room. 

Jackson sat on a dais at the head of the room, his lizard-like eyes closed in sleep as Jawas fanned him. His court was in a similar heat-induced stupor, as they sat around and drank lazily while slaves cooled them with huge palm fronds. The slave girls Danny had mentioned strewed around the room, talking quietly to one another, except for the one chained to Jackson's dais, who was lounging in front of the Hutt's sluggish body, trying to put as much distance as she possibly could between Jackson and herself. Her head was turned, so Scott couldn't see her face, but her outfit made him angry on her behalf— a skimpy metallic bikini top, covered in golden swirls of metal, with similar bottoms, long, gauzy fabric hanging from the waistline to the floor in the front and back, leaving her hips completely bare other than the links of chain holding the skirt together. The thing that appalled Scott the most was the heavy metal collar around her neck, and the chain attached to it, the other end clutched tightly in Jackson's flabby hand. Her hair was pulled back in an ornate golden hairpiece— half was up in a bun, the other half braided down her back— so that the collar was clearly visible. The message that sent made Scott's blood boil. This girl was  _ property.  _

Whispers raced around the room as Scott walked further into the chamber. He saw Threepio, fitted with a restraining bolt, hovering behind the Hutt— probably as a translator, since the gangster refused to speak anything but Huttese. “At last!” Threepio exclaimed. Scott threw him a glare, but the droid didn't catch the hint. “Master Scott's come to rescue us!” he continued. 

At that, the girl chained up in front of Jackson sat up, looking right at Scott. His breath caught in his throat, and anger bubbled inside him again— the girl was  _ Lydia.  _

He had a silent conversation with her, and she nodded that yes, physically she was okay. He was ready to grab a blaster and shoot Jackson now, screw his Jedi morals, but Lydia caught what he was thinking and shook her head sharply.  _ Continue with the plan, _ she mouthed silently. Scott snapped his mouth shut, looking away from her to the Hutt, but he wasn't happy about it. 

Jackson's Twi'lek walked up to him quickly, leaning over to whisper in the Hutt's ear. Jackson stirred awake, his reptilian eyes blinking, before they settled on Scott and narrowed. 

“I don't want to talk to you,” Jackson spat in Huttese. His Twi'lek leaned in again, insisting that Scott be allowed to speak. 

“You weak-minded idiot,” Jackson snarled. “He's using a Jedi mind trick on you.” 

“Jackson,” Scott said. “I don't want this to turn into a fight.” 

The Hutt narrowed his eyes at Scott. “Is that so, little Jedi?” He sneered. “Then you shouldn't have come here.” He turned towards his guards, gesturing with a flabby hand towards Scott. “Search him.”

Scott stood stock still as the Gamorrean guards patted him down, searching for weapons he didn’t have on him. As if he’d bring his lightsaber into this place, just so Jackson could take it away. No, their plan had considered that. The guards backed away, grunting to Jackson that he was unarmed. 

Well, physically unarmed. It wasn’t as if  the guards could take the Force away from him. 

Scott focused all his energy on the Force, trying to manipulate Jackson's mind like he had the Twi'lek. He knew Talia said changing someone's thoughts was only for emergencies, really, but, well— this  _ was _ life or death. As much as Scott would really like to slaughter Jackson and his whole posse of low life scum, he was a Jedi, and they weren't supposed to kill in cold blood. 

“You will bring Stiles Solo and Chewbacca to me,” he insisted, waving his hand slightly to help channel the Force. 

Jackson just laughed. “Yeah, I don't think so,” he sneered. “Your little Jedi mind tricks don't work on me.” 

“I'm taking my friends with me,” Scott informed him, stepping closer to the gangster, off of the elaborate metal grate that made up most of the floor. “I tried asking nicely, but if you force my hand, I'll do whatever I need to to get my friends out of here.” 

“Scott,” Lydia breathed. “You're standing on—” but Jackson cut her off, pulling violently on her chain and tugging her into his blubbery body. Lydia's hands went to her throat, trying to loosen the collar around her neck. 

“We'll see how that goes,” Jackson sneered. His guards began to move closer to Scott, and Scott spied, on the fringes of the security guards, Danny in his disguise. Danny nodded shortly at him— he was ready to execute the next step in their plan. If Scott took the Hutt, then he would go get Stiles and the others. The only thing missing was Artoo. He was supposed to be here, but Scott didn’t see him anywhere. Looking back to Jackson, Scott decided he’d have to settle for a blaster— it wasn’t as elegant as a lightsaber, but it would get the job done. 

Scott reached out with the Force, summoning the blaster of one of the Gamorrean guards into his hand. The guard lunged at him, but not before Scott turned the weapon on Jackson, aimed right at his head. Before Scott could get a shot off, though, Jackson was pounding something on his dais, and the floor below Scott was suddenly gone. 

Scott barely had enough time to process what was going on before he was tumbling out of a tunnel and into a sandy pit, the Gamorrean guard who had lunged after him sprawling out on the sand behind him. Scott quickly jumped to his feet, surveying the room. It wasn't too big— it was roughly hewn of rock, maybe ten meters high, ten meters long, with the only light pouring in from a large, intricate grate in the ceiling. Scott realized it had been the same one he was standing on minutes ago in the throne room. Rumbling came from the ceiling, and then Scott saw the edge of Jackson's dais through the grate, the Hutt laughing down at them, Lydia's face petrified and white as snow. 

Another grinding, metallic sound ripped Scott's attention away from the crowd watching them above— at the opposite end of the cave, a large, heavy portcullis was being lifted, the spiked ends rising out of the sand until the grate was retracted into the rocks above. From the shadows beyond the grate, a low, aggressive, guttural growl echoed off the stone. 

Scott's stomach dropped as it finally hit him. The pit, the audience above, the creature hiding in the shadows— they were in an  _ execution _ arena. 

Scott thought it couldn't get worse. Then the thing stepped out of the shadows. 

A gigantic rancor towered over him and the guard, its head almost brushing the ceiling. It was a sandy, mottled brown color, with skin that looked thicker than armor. Horns grew down the ridge of its hunched back, and it fixed its beady eyes on Scott, its long arms sweeping after him, reaching for its prey with its long, clawed fingers. Scott dodged its grip, and the creature roared at him, baring its rows of long, razor sharp fangs, saliva dripping from its knifelike teeth down its short snout. 

It reached out a clawed hand again, roaring deafeningly, and Scott dodged again, slipping around to its side, but the Gamorrean guard wasn't so lucky. He squealed in terror as the Rancor clutched him tightly in his grasp, before the creature lowered the guard into his mouth. Scott heard the terrified screams stop abruptly as the Rancor's jaw snapped closed, biting the guard in half. 

Panic began to flood through Scott. He had no weapon, and something told him that his werewolf claws weren't going to hold up against this thing. Something caught his eye, lodged under the rocky edges of the walls— a huge, long bone. The Rancor finished its meal, turning on Scott immediately, and Scott grabbed the bone— it wasn't particularly sharp, it wouldn't help him fight off the thing, but if he could use it to lodge the monster's jaw open, that would make it much harder for him to be swallowed. 

The Rancor lunged at Scott, its mouth wide and on level with him, and Scott quickly jammed the bone into its mouth. The creature howled in outrage that it couldn't close its jaw, and Scott slid under its outreached claws, rolling out of the sand and standing up on the opposite side of the monster. 

He could see into the Rancor's cage now, with its massive body out of the way, and his heart leaped at the realization that there was a door there, with a control panel next to it. He sprinted into the monster's shadowy lair, running to the far wall and pounding on the control panel. The door immediately slid upwards, but there was a durasteel grate barring off the entrance. He shook on the bars, but they didn't budge, the sentients on the other side howling cruelly with laughter. Scott was truly trapped. 

A snapping noise caught his attention, as he saw that the Rancor had managed to snap the bone in its mouth in half, closing its jaw now. It rounded on Scott, filling the entire entry to the cave, and Scott noticed too late he was boxed in. His eyes flitted up to the almost concealed bottom of the portcullis, the sharp, metallic spikes lining the bottom of the retracted grate. The control panel next to him had two sets of buttons— one for the door behind him, and one for the gate in front of him. A wild idea struck Scott. 

He stood stock still, waiting with dread for the Rancor to reenter the cave enough so that his plan would work. The cave wasn't all that big— the creature drew closer, and Scott could smell its foul stench, see the saliva dripping from its jaws, feel its beady, hateful eyes fixed directly on him, intent on devouring him whole— 

The second the monster's body was half under the portcullis, Scott pounded on the control panel. 

The gate slammed down immediately, and the sharp metal spikes drove right into the Rancor, squishing it and impaling it under the heavy portcullis. It let out a pitiful, dying groan, its mouth twitching, before it lay still, unblinking and dead. 

Scott had barely a second to celebrate his victory before the metal gate behind him was sliding up and guards were wrestling him from the arena. They brought him up to the throne room, holding him in place in front of Jackson. A second later, another team of guards emerged, one holding Stiles and Allison and another wrestling Chewie. All four of them stood in front of the Hutt, guards everywhere. 

“Stiles?” Scott asked, so glad to see that despite the situation, his friend was alive. 

“Scott!” Stiles said, turning his head in Scott's direction, though his eyes were unfocused. “I can't see anything. Are you okay?” 

“I'm fine,” Scott assured him. “Are you?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles responded. “You better have a way out of this.” 

“Don't worry. I have a plan,” Scott assured him, not mentioning that so far, absolutely  _ nothing  _ was going according to plan. 

“I hope so,” Stiles muttered. “Where's Lydia?” he asked, his voice full of concern. 

“I'm right here,” she replied, still chained to the edge of Jackson's dais, a hand at the collar around her throat. Scott thought it best not to mention what Jackson had done to her quite yet— he was ready to kill a room full of people for what they'd done to her; Scott knew Stiles would do much worse to his former employer. 

Threepio appeared again from behind Jackson, and when Jackson began to speak, translated his words. “His High Exaltedness, the mighty Jackson the Hutt says you are to be punished for what you have done to his palace and to his pet. You are to be terminated, immediately.” 

“Good, I hate long waits,” Stiles quipped. Scott rolled his eyes. 

“You will therefore be taken to the Dune Sea, and cast into the pit of Carcoon, the nesting place of the all powerful Sarlaac.” 

“Doesn't sound too bad,” Stiles muttered, shrugging. Jeers and laughter ran through the room. Scott just shook his head again. 

Threepio continued. “In his belly, you will know a new definition of pain, as you are slowly digested over a thousand years.” 

“On second thought, let's pass on that,” Stiles replied. Chewie howled in agreement. 

“For the record, that doesn’t even make sense,” Lydia interjected. “They would die of starvation or dehydration or even  _ suffocation _ way before being fully digested. No one can survive without food or water for a thousand years.” 

“Shut up,” Jackson snarled at Lydia, yanking on the chain around her neck and pulling her into his side. Lydia whimpered, one hand grasping at her neck, sucking in a big breath as he released the chain. 

“Lydia!” Stiles yelped, still glancing around blindly. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice hoarse and quiet, and Stiles tried to wrestle out of the arms of the guards holding him to get to the princess. It was too late, though; the guards were already pulling them off to the dungeons again. 

“I warned you, Jackson,” Scott told the Hutt, his voice dangerous. 

The Hutt just laughed, and the guards forced Scott, Stiles, Allison, and Chewie downstairs. 

***

Scott wasn’t sure how it was possible for the dungeons to smell even worse than the rancor pit he’d just been forced into, but somehow, they did. 

His boots splashed through stagnant, murky water as the guards shoved him into a cell. He could hear Chewie’s roars of protest as he was dragged farther down the hall, Stiles grumbling behind him. But the guards pushed Allison into Scott’s cell, slamming the grate closed and locking the door the moment she was inside. 

It was probably dumb, the way his heart started beating, considering they were in a prison in Jackson’s palace and were once again facing imminent death. But Scott hadn’t seen Allison in nearly a year— he’d met Lydia briefly, before she and Allison set out with Chewie to the palace, before dawn, but Allison had still been sleeping. She had cut her hair short, Scott noticed, her curls just brushing her shoulders. She surveyed the surroundings of their cell, brows furrowed, lips pursed, before her gaze landed on Scott and her expression relaxed.  

“Scott,” she said, voice a mixture of relief and surprise, and Scott was immediately glad he was the only one with supernatural hearing around here. He was pretty sure his heart rate rivaled that of Stiles’s when Lydia was around. 

“Allison,” he replied, trying to keep his tone casual. “I— are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, and while her voice was sure, Scott could hear her elevated heartbeat, smell the nervousness washing over her. 

“I—” Scott hesitated, his mind still frustratingly blank. Why was it that he could lead rebellion squadrons and fight the Empire without batting an eye, but when it came to talking to Allison he was reduced to a nervous wreck?

“How has everything been?” he finally settled on, meeting her gaze. She shrugged, and the only comfort that Scott had was she felt as awkward as he did. 

“With the Rebellion?” she clarified, taking a step closer to him. The water under her feet splashed, the sound echoing off the damp stone walls. 

“Yeah,” Scott said. “And you, I mean. How are you?” 

He immediately regretted his words, cringing at how awkward he sounded. Allison graciously ignored this. 

“I’m good,” she said, nodding her head. She glanced around their surroundings again, raising an eyebrow at the moldy walls. “Maybe not  _ currently  _ so good, but…” she turned back to Scott, her eyes completely captivating. “I really like working with the Rebellion. I feel like I’m  _ helping.  _ Making up for what my family’s done.” She sighed, looking down. “Making up for what I’ve done.” 

“Allison, you haven’t done—” Scott began, but Allison shook her head, cutting him off.

“I have. Before this, before I went to Bespin— I did some awful things, Scott,” she said, glancing up and meeting his eyes. “I followed in my family’s footsteps pretty blindly. Seeing my aunt again makes me wish I’d caught onto what I was doing more quickly.” She exhaled, glancing down again. “I’m not proud of who I used to be. But I’m making it right now. Helping save Stiles. Helping Lydia.” She grinned again at Scott, her smile almost teasing. “Although I see what she means about you not always having the best plans.” 

Scott rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but he couldn’t help smiling. It was true— he’d have good ideas, but most of the time his plans  _ sucked.  _ Partly because his plans were, most of the time, just to go rescue everyone and figure the rest out later. 

“Lydia and Stiles are the ones that always come up with the plans,” Scott confessed. Allison grinned. “Though I did have a pretty big part in this one.” 

“This one better work,” Allison teased. “I would really like to avoid dying on this barren wasteland.” She scrunched up her brows as soon as the words came out of her mouth, regarding Scott apologetically. “Sorry. I know this is your homeworld.” 

Scott shrugged. “It doesn’t really feel like it anymore. I lost my parents on this world. Lost everything I know.” He looked at her again, and the expression on her face was unreadable. “It seems like a different place to me now.” 

Allison nodded. “I think if I ever went back to Mandalore, I would feel the same.” 

Scott nodded, leaving the silence there for her to continue if she wanted to. Speaking of her homeworld seemed to be as painful for her as it was for him— and Lydia, and Stiles, actually. The four of them had been beaten down, bullied, or torn violently away from their homeworlds. Luckily, the four of them seemed to have found home in the Rebellion and each other. 

“This plan will work,” Scott said a moment later, voice sure. He had the Force on his side this time. And he would do anything to help his friends. “But you better be ready for a fight.” 

Allison grinned, and Scott felt his heart speed up again. “Trust me,” she said. “When it comes to my friends— I’m always ready for a fight.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, since this story is (mostly) finished editing-wise, I thought I'd start posting two chapters a week, since it's hella long. I'll try to post them earlier in the day from now on, too-- the whole PST thing is still throwing me off. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Lydia was getting very,  _ very _ tired of this whole situation. 

Sure, she had known her just rescuing Stiles outright was probably not going to work— plan A  _ never _ worked— and she had come to terms with the fact that getting out of here alive would mean a day or two in the rank dungeons. But never, in her wildest dreams, did she think she'd be forced into a skimpy metallic outfit and chained up and paraded around like a piece of property. 

She was lucky that Jackson had been too busy dealing with Scott to actually do anything to her— she'd heard the other girls talk, the things they'd seen, the horrors they'd been put through, the things they had to let the Hutt and the other men do to them— and Lydia swore, first she was going to kill this monster, next she was going to win this war, reshape the galactic government, and put an end to slavery once and for all, because this was  _ disgusting _ . 

Her outfit, despite being barely there, was some sort of metal— at least, the bra cups and the waistband of the skirt (could it even be called a skirt? It was basically two panels of fabric, and she wasn't allowed to wear anything under it) were metal, as were the decorative armbands and the heavy collar and chain, and the heat made the entire outfit even more uncomfortable than it would be in normal circumstances, where the hundred degree temperatures wouldn't heat the clothing she wore. The stench of being chained right to Jackson himself, and the discomfort of being constantly pulled backwards into his flabby body, against his moist, blubbery skin, was humiliating and degrading— she wanted to vomit every time the Hutt stared at her cleavage, or pulled her closer, or caressed her bare back with his flabby hand— 

Now, Scott was captured too, which had  _ not  _ been part of the plan, and her chances of getting out of here before Jackson did something truly physical to her were looking slimmer and slimmer. 

Luckily the Hutt wasted no time in preparing the execution— Jackson's entire court, plus band and waitstaff, as well as food and drink, had to be loaded onto his large, posh barge for the half-day trip out to the Pit of Carcoon. The next morning, just as the suns were reaching their highest point in the sky, Jackson's court got on the barge, led by the Hutt himself, tugging Lydia along by her chain. They left a couple of guards at the palace to keep an eye on the prisoners and watch the slave girls, who hadn't needed to come, but other than that, the palace was deserted. 

The barge was far from that. 

The band had struck up a jazzy tune again, and servants scurried between the different decks, serving food and drink and catering to every need of the Hutt and his friends. Threepio stood behind Jackson to translate, and Artoo was even cruising around, a drink tray attached to his domed top. Lydia was still chained at Jackson's tail like a Kath Hound. 

They sped out into the open desert, nothing but sand on every side of them. Jackson was on the second level, the only level above theirs being the barge's outside deck, fitted with shades and huge blaster cannons, in case they needed to attack anyone, apparently. From their shady spot inside, Lydia could see right out the windows, and had a clear view of the tinier barges— barely ten feet long, really only simple decks with motors and guard rails on them. There were two, one full of guards, and one with the actual prisoners. Scott, Stiles, Allison, and Chewie were still all cuffed, but Lydia was almost positive one of the guards holding the Wookiee was Danny. 

Lydia was getting antsy. She hoped Scott's back up plan was going to work, because if not, she couldn't see all of them getting out of this mess. 

One thing was for sure— at the first opportunity, this chain was coming off her neck. 

***

After four years of being in the Rebellion, flying from planet to planet and seeing all sorts of things in the galaxy, Scott had forgotten just how little there was on Tatooine. Sand, sand, and more sand, for miles and miles. 

Stiles, Chewie, and Allison stood next to Scott on their small transport barge, their hands cuffed in front of them, just like Scott's. The sun beat down on their backs, reflecting off the dunes and back at them, and Scott was sweating. 

“I don't know,” Stiles said to Chewie, shrugging at the wookiee. “Maybe my vision is getting better. Instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur.” 

Scott laughed. “Trust me, you're not missing much. It's just sand.” He turned to Danny, shrugging. “I used to live here, you know.” 

“You're gonna die here, you know,” Stiles quipped, unable to see that Scott wasn’t addressing him. “Convenient.” 

Scott rolled his eyes at his friend, before remembering he couldn't see him. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he offered Stiles. “I know you know I lived here.” 

Stiles made a face at him. “Okay, good, I was worried. Even if you hadn’t told me, this was the planet I  _ met  _ you on when I picked you and Derek up.” 

“How did you know we didn't just get stranded here?” Scott replied, indignant. 

Stiles flat out laughed. “Your clothing, for one. Farmboy chic in its prime.” 

“Fine, whatever,” Scott mumbled, but Stiles continued. 

“And you were just so  _ amazed _ by hyperspace, it was clear you'd never left the planet—” 

“Okay, seriously—” 

“And I believe you said when we landed on Yavin,  _ and I quote, ‘It's so green!’” _

“Okay, Stiles, shut up!” Scott burst, his words echoing over Allison’s delighted laugh, though he couldn't help grinning at the wide smirk on his best friend's face. Stars, it was good to have him back, even if they were in yet another completely dangerous, life-threatening situation. 

“Yes, please shut up,” Danny chimed in from behind Chewie. “I'm sick of listening to both of you.” Chewie growled in agreement. 

The barges began to slow, and Scott could see the Pit of Carcoon up ahead, a huge, wide sinkhole in the never ending sand dunes. He'd always heard tall tales and horror stories about it and the Sarlaac living inside as a kid, but he had never seen it before. Anytime he and Harley raced out in the Dune Sea, they always gave this place wide berth. 

When they reached the pit, Jackson's huge barge slowed to a stop on the opposite side of the gorge, and guards roughly moved Scott, Stiles, and Chewie up towards the gap in the railing. With a push of a button, a plank that extended out over the pit slowly unfurled from the side. The guards wrestled Scott out onto the plank after removing his binders, and Scott looked into the pit warily, seeing the Sarlaac for the first time. 

There really wasn't much to see above ground— it was huge, filling the whole pit, big enough to easily swallow a person whole, with a gaping mouth filled with rows of teeth. It had tentacles extending out from its buried body up the sides of the sand pit, evidently for pulling unsuspecting prey into its mouth. It hissed grotesquely at them, and the guards holding Scott chuckled darkly. 

Scott looked across the gorge, over at Jackson's barge. He could see the Hutt watching them from the large windows on the top level. Lydia was clutching at the window frame, her face pale with fear, before Jackson jerked her backwards with a tug of her chain. A glint of silver caught Scott's eye, and he saw Artoo, up on the open-aired top deck. The droid beeped at him, the tinny sound drifting over the empty dunes

“Victims of the almighty Sarlaac,” Threepio's voice came booming, clearly projected by some sort of speaker system. “His excellency hopes that you will die honorably.” The droid paused. “But, if any of you would like to beg for mercy, the great Jackson will now listen to your pleas.” 

Scott laughed. Stiles called from behind him, “Threepio, tell that slimy piece of worm-ridden filth that there's no way in hell we're begging for his mercy!” 

Stiles turned his head towards Chewie briefly. “Right?” he asked, quieter. Chewie huffed at him. 

“I'm warning you, Jackson,” Scott called out. He could hear the jeers from the barge, and the Hutt's laughter echoed out over the sand dunes. 

“Put him in!” Jackson called to his guards, and they shoved Scott forward, to the end of the plank. He turned his head to look at Danny, nodding slightly at him, before checking to see that Artoo was in the same spot still. Finally, he looked at Lydia, giving her a reassuring smile. She was back at the window, and she looked like she was going to pass out. 

Scott turned around, facing his friends back on the barge. And then he stepped backwards off the plank. 

There was a collective gasp as he fell straight down backwards, but it was barely for a second, before Scott caught the edge of the plank with his hands, and, using the springy board to launch himself, as well as a push of the Force, flipped gracefully through the air, landing feet first on the barge, next to his friends. The guards were so flabbergasted at the turn of  events that they stood frozen, and didn't move when Artoo shot Scott's new lightsaber from his domed top; Scott caught it in his hand, and powered it on, the green blade shining against the creamy background of sand. 

Scott immediately swiped at the guards around them, striking some down and knocking a trio of them over the side of the barge with a push from the Force; he raced over to Chewie, Stiles, and Allison and slashed through their binders, freeing them. Danny ripped off his helmet and tossed blasters to the three others, while Scott turned his attention back to the guards coming at them. 

The other small barge was drawing closer; the ten or so guards and bounty hunters on there firing off blaster shots at the trio. Chewie shoved Stiles out of the way, as he was still essentially blind, and Scott dove in front of them, deflecting the incoming spray of blaster fire with his lightsaber. Allison, however, pushed past him, lifting her chin as she shot guards down with deadly accuracy. Scott almost paused, amazed and enthralled by how incredible she was. She might have been the best marksman he’d ever seen. 

Danny shot back at the enemies on the other barge, but one of the Weequay pirates fired a shot at him, and to avoid it, he dived up against the railing. His foot got tangled in the mess of ropes and such piled in the corner, and he rocketed over the side of the barge, only the net wrapped tightly around his ankle keeping him from tumbling into the Sarlaac's mouth. 

Scott didn't notice this, calling upon a boost from the Force to jump over to the other barge. He deflected blaster bolts with his blade, directing the shots back at the pirates and guards trying to gun him down, and many of them fell. Rage pounded in Scott's veins, blood roaring in his ears, his vision getting a hazy red tint to it— he wanted to punish these people, the ones who had chained up Lydia, and kept Stiles prisoner, and gorged themselves on the finest things the galaxy had to offer, at the expense of all the other beings. He knocked them all down, accosting guard after guard, pirate after pirate, sending some into the Sarlaac's mouth and knocking some down with his lightsaber, but doing whatever he had to in order to get his friends out of here. Allison fought behind him, her back against his and a blaster in each hand, taking down the guards he missed and picking off snipers from the top of Jackson’s barge. 

Allison’s head whipped up at the familiar sound of a jetpack, her nerves suddenly on edge. At the top of Jackson’s barge was her aunt, helmet under one arm, blasters in hand. “Scott!” Allison said urgently, as she shot down another pirate. She turned towards Scott, meeting his eyes. “My aunt is here.” 

“Kate,” Scott said, suddenly going pale. Guilt gnawed at Allison’s stomach, knowing what her family had done to Scott, to Stiles, to  _ Lydia.  _ But she was here now, trying to make it right. Forming a new code from that of her family. 

Allison stood frozen, blaster pointed at her aunt— her finger hovered over the trigger, trying to get a clean shot— she wasn’t even sure she  _ could _ shoot her aunt, even if she wanted to— 

“Look out!” Scott said suddenly, shoving Allison back and catching a blaster bolt with his lightsaber that had been headed right for her. He aimed the bolt back at the sniper it had come from, and flames went up in one of the windows of Jackson’s barge. 

“Sorry,” Scott said, offering Allison a hand and tugging her up from the ground. His eyes were all soft and sympathetic, his expression so open; for being the best fighter in the Rebellion, Allison thought she’d never met someone who looked more like a puppy dog. 

_ “You should have seen him when his hair was all floppy,”  _ Lydia had said months ago, when Allison had voiced her thoughts out loud to the other girl.  _ “He was literally a big golden retriever.”  _

“It’s fine,” Allison responded, dropping his hand. She smirked, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach when Scott returned her grin. “But you know I can take care of myself.” 

Scott almost laughed. “Believe me, I know.” 

Behind them, Kate tugged her helmet on, firing up her jetpack and zooming across the gorge, landing on the now-empty barge that Stiles and Chewie were still on. 

“Stiles!” Allison screamed. “Look out!” 

Kate raised her blaster, aiming it right for the still temporarily-blind Stiles, who was groping blindly in the corner for something. He dodged the bolt, probably by luck, but then Chewie warbled out a phrase, probably a warning, to his friend. 

“Kate Argent?” Stiles cried, straightening up, a long pole in his hand. “Where?” 

He turned frantically, and Allison watched as Stiles whacked her jet pack with the long stick in his hand, and it powered up, roared to life, propelling her forward faster that she could control it. It drove her straight into the slanted walls of Jackson's barge, and she turned her head disorientedly— before Allison could react, her aunt was falling through the air, rolling down the sand, and a tentacle wrapped around her upper body, squeezing her Mandalorian armor and denting the strong metal. Allison’s jaw dropped in shock as the Sarlaac pulled her into its mouth. 

“Allison,” Scott started, all soft, but she shook her head, shoving him out of the way of a blaster bolt this time. Quickly, she took aim, taking out a pirate on the roof with two precise bolts. 

“Later,” she told Scott firmly, and he nodded, powering up his lightsaber again, falling back into position next to her. 

Jackson roared in outrage at the pandemonium below, yelling out for someone to shoot the prisoners already. No one seemed to really be listening, as creatures ran around pell-mell, some heading for the upper level, some heading for the lower levels, some trying to get across the gorge and over to the prisoners. A sniper had his long blaster pointed out the window, with Stiles in his scope. Lydia quickly looked at Jackson, who was paying no attention to her, and, as the sniper leaned out the window to get the shot, kicked him with all her strength, sending the man tumbling out the window and into the Sarlaac's waiting mouth. 

Lydia turned and studied Jackson, who had not noticed her actions. She jumped up on the dais, grabbing the long length of chain that kept her anchored to the platform. She darted around Jackson until she was behind him, and holding the chain in her hand, deftly swung it around until it encircled his neck, and she  _ pulled _ . 

Jackson definitely noticed that. His flabby hands tried to reach up to loosen the chain from his neck, but his stubby arms were too short, and he couldn't reach. There was nothing he could do to stop her except fight to breathe. 

Lydia pulled harder, letting herself hang off the dais, leaning back on her heels and putting all her weight into pulling on the chain. Jackson choked and gasped for air, his slimy tongue sticking out of his mouth, his tail shaking. She pulled, and pulled, until her muscles were shaking and she was out of breath, and finally, the Hutt's eyes rolled back in his head, his tail stopped twitching, and Jackson slumped over, dead. 

Lydia unlooped the chain from around his neck so she could walk to stand in front of the gangster— his slimy body motionless, his eyes eerily still, his acrid breath no longer wafting over her. She paused, surveying him, and then spit in his face. 

“I'm not  _ property,” _ she hissed, before turning away from the Hutt corpse. 

A familiar beeping sounded behind her, and Lydia turned, coming face to face with Artoo. 

“Artoo!” Lydia breathed, kneeling down next to the droid. “Can you cut this for me?” She held the length of chain out in front of her. The droid beeped in the affirmative, extending a sawing tool and deftly cutting through the metal. Lydia stood, finally freed, and followed the droid when he beeped at her that Scott would need them on the upper level. 

Meanwhile, the Sarlaac could clearly tell there were people nearby, and lots of them— and it wanted more food. Its tentacles reached out, pulling people struggling up the sides of the steep sandbanks into its mouth.  A few unlucky guards were pulled down off the edge of the sandbanks, howling as the Sarlaac drew them into its mouth. 

Stiles hung over the side of the barge, his hands through the railing, holding on to a long pole, lowering it down to Danny to help hoist him back up onto the barge. His vision really wasn't that much better— he could kind of make out a huge, light-colored blur, with a few darker smudges here and there. He just hoped the smudge he was trying to help was Danny. 

“Stiles, a little lower!” Danny's voice barked, panicky. Yup, Stiles definitely had the right blur. 

Chewie howled as he chucked another guard overboard, right past Danny and into the pit. Stiles lowered his pole a little, and Danny yelled out in triumph as his hands gripped the metal. 

“Okay, pull me up!” Danny cried, but at that second, a shot hit the side of the barge, and it lurched, angling down into the pit, and Stiles almost went tumbling overboard. Danny slid down the sand farther, though still holding the pole, and with a yell, Chewie grabbed Stiles's ankles and kept the pair from sliding into the Sarlaac's mouth. 

“Okay, Chewie, pull us up,” Stiles said to the wookiee, but Danny cried out in alarm— one of the Sarlaac's tentacles had wrapped around his leg and was pulling him down the sand. 

“Kriff!” Stiles swore as Chewie very quickly explained what had happened. He groped blindly for the blaster Danny had thrown him, that he had tucked into his holster earlier. He pointed the gun right at Danny, intent on shooting the Sarlaac's tentacle. 

“Woah, woah, wait!” Danny yelped. “I thought you couldn't see anything!” 

Stiles shook his head, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. “Nah, I can see way better now!” he called back, squinting his eyes, though that did nothing to help his vision. “Just hold still, okay?” he told Danny. 

Biting his tongue in concentration, Stiles took his shot. 

The Sarlaac screeched in pain, and Danny whooped, scrambling up the sandbank and grabbing on to the pole again. Chewie howled, pulling both men up to safety on the barge, both laughing, exhilarated. 

“Thanks, Chewie,” Danny said gratefully, untangling his legs from the ropes that had kept him from falling right into the Sarlaac's mouth. 

“Now what?” Stiles asked, his head whipping around, trying to see everyone. 

Danny shrugged, surveying their now empty barge. “We wait for Scott, I guess. He's in charge of the whole plan.” 

Stiles audibly groaned. “Scott made the plan? His plans are  _ terrible _ .” He sighed. “Well, this will be fun, then.” 

Scott didn't hear his friends' jabs, after clearing off the second barge. “Get back to Stiles and Danny, make sure they’re covered,” he asked Allison. She nodded, running and leaping onto the other barge, rolling out of her landing and jumping back to her feet, blasters pointed out to fend off more intruders. Scott took a running leap up to the top level of Jackson's barge. He landed ungracefully on the deck, rolling over and springing up to his feet; immediately he ignited his lightsaber, slashing at pirates and deflecting blaster bolts. 

A second later Lydia came dashing up on deck, the chain hanging off her collar snapped, only a few links now. 

“How'd you get away from Jackson?” Scott asked, amazed, still battling the pirates. 

Lydia shrugged, picking up a blaster and firing it. “I killed him.” 

Scott's jaw dropped slightly. “Okay, well that makes this part of the plan easier, then.” 

“What part of the plan?” Lydia asked. “What are we doing?” 

“Blowing this place up,” Scott responded, as Threepio toddled up onto the deck, Artoo beeping in aggravation behind him. “Get up to that gun there, and point it at the deck.” 

Lydia nodded, charging at the gunman, her blaster pointed. The guard was spinning the huge laser cannon around, trying to shoot down their friends on the barge below— so far, it wasn't working well. 

“Hey!” Lydia called, before letting off a shot straight at him, catching him in the chest and sending him backwards. She raced up to the gun turret, turning the huge cannon to face the deck, her long, silky skirt fluttering in the desert breeze. 

Artoo pushed Threepio over the side of the deck, down onto the sand below, the protocol droid screaming in protest the whole way down. The astromech seemed unperturbed, following Threepio over the side himself, until both droids had disappeared from the deck. 

Scott came bounding over to Lydia, his lightsaber still raised and deflecting shots. 

“Is it in position?” he asked, and she nodded. Scott grabbed a rope hanging from the overhead canopies, then grabbed Lydia's waist. “Hold on to me,” he instructed, and she did, clutching onto him for dear life. He kicked the trigger of the laser cannon with his boot, and as the shot hit the deck, it caught fire. They didn't stick around to see the explosion it would trigger up close— Scott took a little running start, and they were swinging over the Sarlaac, tumbling into the abandoned barge with Stiles, Allison, Danny, and Chewie. Jackson's floating palace went up in flames as the internal explosions triggered a chain reaction, and the whole burning mess tumbled down onto the sand. 

“Let's get out of here,” Scott said, helping Lydia to her feet. “And we can't forget the droids.” 

“Are you sure we can't forget Threepio?” Stiles complained as they cruised over to where the droids had fallen in the sand, using the claw on the bottom of the barge to grab them both. Artoo beeped happily as he was hoisted on board, and Threepio grumbled at the amount of sand now in his joints.

“Alright,” Scott said, surveying the burning remnants of the barge around them. “Now let’s go.” 

“If you think we're leaving this planet without going back to that palace and freeing all those slave girls, you're sorely mistaken,” Lydia informed him, her fingers trying to loosen her collar. 

“I second that,” Danny interjected. 

“Okay,” Scott said, as he couldn't have agreed more. He turned to Chewie, who was flying. “Back to Jackson's palace, then.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're long overdue for some Stydia, don't you?
> 
> I'd love to know what you think! I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you want to talk. Enjoy!

After the initial adrenaline rush from the fight wore off, Lydia felt about ready to collapse. 

The barge finally made it back into where the Falcon had been hidden— some junkyard in Mos Espa that Danny knew the owner of. Allison and Danny helped Stiles inside the ship, Chewie hovering behind, but Lydia hung back to wait for Scott, who had hesitated in front of the gangplank. 

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, looking at her friend with concern. His brown eyes met hers, and there was a look in them that she couldn't quite identify. 

“Yeah, I'm okay,” he said, hushed, looking out past the abandoned junkyard and into the city. “I just— I felt something, through the Force, and I thought—” he looked at her, their eyes meeting again. “You guys go on back to the rendezvous— I have my X-Wing. And I have to check on something here.” 

Lydia wanted to argue, but she knew better, somehow— the look in Scott's eye conveyed that he'd felt something from his past, and he had to find it.

“We’re not leaving the planet at a different time than you,” she said, shaking her head. “One more day won’t hurt. We can leave tomorrow morning. Stiles needs the time before he can fly anyways.” Scott nodded, and she met his eyes, the concern evident in her tone. They’d just worked so hard to rescue everyone— the last thing she wanted was for something to happen and separate them now. “Be careful, okay?” 

He gave her a slight grin. “Of course.” He looked back towards the city, and then walked out of the junkyard, towards the sprawling mess of low, sandy clay buildings. 

Lydia retreated up the ramp, intent on finding Stiles and patching him up, whatever his protests may be. 

***

Stiles felt like he was dying, but he really didn't want to tell Lydia that. 

“I'm okay,” he insisted for what had to be the tenth time, but she ignored him, continuing to explore his body with her hands for injuries. Not that he was really complaining about that part. She'd sat him down on the couch around the Dejarik table, and with her standing in front of him, he finally had to tilt  _ his _ head up to meet  _ her _ eyes. 

Not that he could see them, but. In principle. 

“Like hell you are,” she retorted, her hands pressing on his ribs. He couldn't help it; he winced, her fingers immediately drawing away from his body. 

“I think one of your ribs is cracked,” she said, “and your arm got grazed by a blaster bolt—” that would explain why his upper arm was stinging so badly— her hand travelled to the back of his neck, feeling the mottled, rashed skin from where Vader's henchmen had stuck him with drugs and injections. “And—” she paused, and he heard her take a ragged breath—  _ “Stars, _ Stiles, I'm so sorry.” 

“You don't have to apologize,” he said hurriedly, grabbing her hand. He wished he could  _ see _ her, but everything was still so blurry— he could make out a large creamy blot against the warmer brown background, a smudge of reddish hair thrown in, but he still felt like he was looking at her through murky glass. 

“No, I...” she said, trailing off, and he could hear the tension and the guilt in her voice, her words brittle and full of regret. “They tortured you on Bespin because of me.” 

“Yeah, and it's my fault we got tailed,” he insisted. “Seriously, Lydia, you saved me. So forget about any outlasting guilt you have.” 

She laughed slightly, squeezing his hand. “I'm going to get you some bacta, okay?” she said. “And some painkillers, and some food— you must be starving—” 

Stiles did feel terrible, now that the adrenaline had worn off. His limbs ached, his bones felt jagged in his body, like every move he made scraped up his insides. His throat still felt like it was full of sand, and though he could control all his limbs almost normally now, he still felt delayed, more sluggish than usual, too slow to react, too slow to move. His eyes still weren't working as well, though seeing blobs of color was an improvement to what he had been able to see before. He simultaneously felt like passing out for a month and never sleeping again, though he barely had enough energy to keep functioning. He nodded his head slowly, and he was sure he seemed almost drunk to Lydia. She chuckled, carding her fingers through his hair. “Medicine, then food, then rest,” she insisted, leaning down briefly to kiss his cheek. He looked up in the direction of her voice, smiling sweetly— he still couldn't believe that she'd come back for him, put her Rebellion on hold and tracked him down— 

His hand reached for her hip, and he froze as his fingers brushed metal chain. 

Lydia immediately tensed under his touch, taking the tiniest step back. His fingers dug into her hip, tracing up her bare skin until they brushed the metal curve of her top, his hand splaying out over the thin cords on her back that kept the bikini in place. 

“Lydia,” he breathed, shocked, because he had  _ been _ in that palace,  _ seen _ those girls, and he knew what they wore, and how they were treated, and what Jackson did to them— 

“It's okay, Stiles, I'm— I'm fine,” she insisted, her voice quavering. Stiles shook his head, his blood boiling in his veins. His hand found her neck, fingering the thick collar strapped around it. 

“Lydia, he— oh,  _ kest _ , please, stars—” Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. 

“It's okay,” she insisted again, taking his hand and holding it in hers. 

“I— I've seen what he does to those girls,” Stiles said, shaking his head, nausea rolling in his stomach. “It's— it's  _ sick. _ It's disgusting. Please tell me he didn't—” 

“He didn't touch me,” she soothed, and he could sense that her words were soothing herself as much as they were soothing him. “I'm fine. He didn't do anything— anything  _ physical _ to me. He just kept me chained up at his feet like a Kath Hound.” 

“Kest,” Stiles swore, dropping his forehead onto her bare stomach, her hands smoothing his hair. “If he did anything to you Lydia, I swear—” 

“Stiles,” she said, more affirmative this time. “He put a chain around my neck, and I killed him. It's over.” 

Stiles sighed into her skin, swearing for what had to be the at least the hundredth time that she was the bravest person he'd ever met. 

“Now, I'm getting you medicine, and food,” she insisted, and he lifted his head back to look in the general vicinity of her face. “And then, you're resting.” 

“Sir, yes sir,” he said, only partially joking. She laughed softly at him. “On one condition, though.” 

He could practically see her raise a perfect  brow at him. “Yeah? What's that?” 

He smiled at her. “If I'm resting, you have to stay with me.” 

She laughed, a real, honest laugh, before leaning down and pressing her lips to his. “Stiles, I am never letting you out of my sight  _ again.” _

***

Scott wandered through the streets of Mos Espa, not really sure where he was going, but positive that there was something here for him. Something felt inherently familiar about this place, though as far as he could remember he'd only ever been to Mos Espa before now once in his life, when he was  _ really  _ little. 

The street he was on was narrow and residential, lined with small, squat apartment buildings made of off-white, sand-worn stone. He remembered his mom telling him how she had lived here with Scott's father when he had been a little boy, in apartments just like these. 

Something prickled at Scott's spine— a nudge from the Force, or something— and impulsively, he reached out to touch the stone of the building in front of him. The second his hand brushed the faded white rock, a rush of feelings, a flood of memories crashed down on him— his mom's comforting embrace, his dad's smile, shining brighter than the suns, the warm, familiar feeling of  _ home,  _ being out on the farm with his dad, checking the vaporators, going into Anchorhead with his mom, learning to fly his speeder, tinkering with machinery in the workshop— the nineteen years he spent on this planet, all of them radiated from the rough stone of the building.  

Somehow, even though it seemed impossible— his parents were  _ here.  _

Scott rang the doorchimes before he could stop himself, heart pounding as he waited in silence. He felt the Force swell around him as the door finally slid open— and behind it, stood his mother. 

She looked older and more worn, her skin more wrinkled, her dark curls graying— but her eyes, that was what Scott thought had changed the most. They weren't bright and shiny anymore; they were dimmer, not as full of life. She looked at him in complete, utter bewilderment for a moment, neither of them speaking, before her eyes lit up, sparkling again like they used to. 

“Scott!” she gasped, grabbing her son and pulling him fiercely into her arms. Scott returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her and sinking his head into her shoulder— the warmth and comfort radiating off of her, her familiar smell— he didn't think he really fathomed how much he missed her until this moment. 

“What— how are you  _ here?”  _ Melissa half-sobbed into his shoulder. “We thought you were dead!” 

“I thought  _ you _ were dead,” Scott mumbled, still hugging her. They pulled away, and Scott surveyed his mom. How was she  _ not _ dead? “The whole farm was torched. How did you escape?” 

“We had to go to one of the farms; one of our neighbors was having a baby,” Melissa said, looking at her son. “They commed right after you left. When we got back from there, the whole house was burned down. And when you never came home, we thought they'd gotten you.” 

“I was with Derek,” Scott supplied, as his mother tugged him inside, the apartment door sliding shut behind him. “I— he brought me off world, and we rescued a princess, and— I joined the Rebellion.” 

“You joined the  _ Rebellion?” _ Melissa said, incredulously. “And you were with  _ Derek?” _

“Yeah,” Scott said. “And then Derek— well, not him, his ghost— sent me to Master Talia, to train to be a Jedi—” Scott went to continue, but Melissa cut him off, her arms crossed, her expression no-nonsense. 

“He told you you were a Jedi,  _ and _ sent you off to train? That boy, I swear. After making me be quiet about it for nineteen years—” 

“Wait, you  _ knew?”  _ Scott said, flabbergasted. Melissa huffed. 

“Of course I knew,” she said, looking at him fondly. “When Derek’s master, Laura, found him on Tatooine as a little boy, she told me what he was, and they whisked him off to their temple to train him. When Derek brought me you, he said you were the same.” 

“So Derek was your son?” Scott asked. Melissa nodded. 

“Not biologically. But I raised him.” She shook her head. “Stars, I was so young when I found him. He must have been one of the slave girls’ or something. He was just a baby, crying alone in part of the palace. Back when I belonged to the Hutts. But I couldn’t just leave him there, so I took him in, and pretended he was mine.” 

“I wish you had told me,” Scott said. “I wish  _ he _ had told me.” 

“I wanted to, Scott. I wanted to  _ so _ badly,” Melissa assured her son, squeezing his hand. “But when he came back, holding you, and said that you were his—” She shook her head. “He told me that you couldn’t know where you came from. The Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments to others, let alone start  _ families.  _ And it would have been dangerous for you to know. Derek said if you knew about your powers, it would make it easier for the Empire to find you. That's why we never told you, or wanted you to leave, because if they found you, I don't know what they would have done to you.” 

“I do,” Scott said glumly, thoughts of his mother crashing down on him. “I— I fought Vader last year. And she wanted me to join her.” 

Scott's mom squeezed his hand, and suddenly, Scott wondered if his mom knew anything about the woman who had given birth to him. The person who had become Darth Vader.

“Did you know my mother at all?”

Melissa hesitated. “Barely. I met her once. But when I did, she wasn’t anything like—” she shook her head. “She was a little wild, a little blasé about the Jedi Pack and her orders, but she… she was sweet. She cared so much about other people, that was clear. And the way Derek looked at her…” Melissa shook her head, smiling a little, stuck in fond memories. “He looked at her like she was the only star in the galaxy, the only thing in front of him that mattered. They came to Tatooine once, in the middle of a mission, after they had been on Geonosis. Right at the start of the war. And then the next time I saw Derek, she was…” Melissa trailed off. 

“How?” Scott asked. “Why?” He didn't know what else to say. 

Melissa sighed. “I don't know. Derek never really knew either, I think. If he did he didn’t share. But he always believed there was still good in her. That she had good reasons at first, but the Emperor manipulated her, turned her to darkness by abusing her fears of losing her loved ones.” 

“Is that true?” Scott asked, looking at his mom again. “Is that really what happened?” 

“I don't know, Scott,” Melissa sighed, stroking her son's cheek. “But it's what Derek told me. I like to believe it’s true. I didn’t know her well, but it was clear how much she cared about Derek. I can’t imagine her turning to the Dark side like that if something else wasn't at play. And I know Derek believed there could still be good in her.” 

Scott nodded in agreement. When he had fought Vader, he’d sensed something strange in her emotions— hesitancy, almost, or reluctance. Like some part of her, buried deep down, was fighting against what the rest of her wanted to do. Maybe there was hope still. Derek believed she was still good, and Scott had felt it in her— the little bit of light hidden under all the darkness and corruption. Maybe, if he could convince her, Scott could bring her back. Maybe  _ that _ was how they could win this war. 

Scott looked up at his mom's comforting face and his train of thought shifted— he was still filled with wonder and relief that she was  _ alive _ . She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “So, the Rebellion, huh? You always dreamed of that. How many different planets have you seen?” 

Scott grinned, recounting his mother with the tales of his, Stiles, and Lydia's adventures. He told her about his friends, his missions, his training on Dagobah, until finally ending with their escape from Jackson's palace. 

“Wait a minute,” Melissa interrupted, shaking her head. “You  _ killed _ Jackson the Hutt?” 

“Technically Lydia did,” Scott insisted. “But yeah, he's dead. They all are.” 

At that sentence, Scott felt that darkness lurking in his veins again, that aggression, the desire to punish all his enemies, get revenge for the horrors they'd instilled on the galaxy. He tried to tamp down the spark of pure rage, but his mother didn't miss the shift in his face, the fear that overcame his expression. 

“What's wrong, Scott?” she asked, looking at her son sternly, letting him know there was no way in hell she was just letting him brush this off as nothing, when he was clearly upset about something. 

“I— I'm scared of my power,” Scott admitted. “Since it comes from— her. When I was on that barge, fighting the bounty hunters— I wanted to hurt them. Make them pay. I was so angry, and I used my anger to make my powers stronger. But that's not what a Jedi does.” 

Melissa squeezed his hand again, urging him on. “I'm scared of myself,” he said, squeezing his eyes closed in frustration. “I— my parents were my anchor before, but now that I know my mother is— is Darth Vader—” Scott gulped, realizing that that was the first time he'd admitted it out loud— “I can't control my power any more.” 

“Scott,” his mom said quietly, no nonsense. “Look at me.” He did, meeting her warm eyes with his, and seeing no judgement, no fear of him or who he was, just love for her son. 

“You don't need her to be a Jedi,” Melissa insisted. “Okay?  _ Be your own anchor.” _

Scott dropped his head, falling into his mother's arms. Her sentence rang over and over again in his ears, and somehow, he knew he would be alright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I love Star Wars but I just couldn't bring myself to kill off Mama McCall and the Sheriff, so. Plot changes were in order. Surprise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I will remember to post chapters to this on time. 
> 
> Anyways, y'all deserve some Stydia and some backstory. Enjoy!

Stiles honestly thought he could lay here, like this, with Lydia curled into his side for the rest of eternity. 

Nothing was better than the comfort of his bunk on the Falcon, the familiar smell of his cabin, the worn blanket slung over the two of them. The cabin was dim, softly lit as the Falcon laid low in Mos Espa. Scott had told them to leave, but Lydia insisted the last time she left him alone on a planet, he had lost a hand, and they weren't going anywhere until he returned. 

Stiles tightened his grip around Lydia, pulling her closer into his chest. It was finally starting to seep in that he had been missing a  _ year _ — an entire year of his life gone, in the blink of an eye. And with the danger in this Rebellion, the possibility that he wouldn’t survive this war much longer— he wasn't taking a single second for granted. So he pulled Lydia closer to him, taking in every single second he got to spend with her like this. She nuzzled her nose into his neck, sighing contentedly in her sleep. 

Stiles blinked his eyes open slowly, expecting to still see a big blur of colors— but instead, the warm cabin came into view, a little fuzzy around the edges, but the girl asleep on his chest in clear detail. Her porcelain skin, the long strawberry blonde curls falling over her shoulder, the faded t-shirt (that was  _ his)  _ falling off her frame, her tiny form curled up under the thick blanket on his bunk— Lydia shifted slightly, her head resting on his shoulder, her long lashes casting shadows on her fair cheeks. 

He breathed in her familiar, almost flowery scent, and he thought it might be his favorite scent in the world— better than the sweet tang of Corellian whiskey, or the smell of engine oil on the Falcon, or the dewy scent of the misty forests on Yavin. The whole cabin smelled like her, from his bedding to his clothing, and he knew Lydia had been sleeping in here since he was taken. 

When Stiles had agreed to go rescue some princess just to shut Scott up, all those years ago, Scott had told him the reward would be greater than he could imagine. He couldn't have been more right— money, something that used to be so important to him, was something trivial now in comparison to Lydia. This girl had risked her life, put her rebellion and war on hold just to track him down and bring him back. He had never imagined he'd ever love anyone, ever really be with anyone, but how much he loved Lydia downright scared him. And here she was, this beautiful, powerful, intelligent,  _ amazing _ woman who loved him  _ back, _ tucked into his side and dozing contentedly, perfectly happy to just be curled into him and revelling in his warmth. 

“Lyds,” he murmured, nudging her forehead with his nose. She hummed in response, opening her eyes and looking at him. His breath caught, finally being able to see her gorgeous eyes, just like he remembered them, emerald green and full of adoration. 

“I can see,” he said quietly, giving her a little grin. Her expression softened, and she smiled up at him. 

“Really?” she asked, tilting her head to the side adorably and grinning innocently up at him. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his eyes roaming her face, drinking in every little detail. “Thank you,” he added as an afterthought, looking at her reverently. “For coming and getting me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing at her mouth, before lowering her head to his chest again, her ear resting right over his heart. 

“You're not getting away from me that easily, flyboy,” she murmured. He grinned into her hair, his palms resting on her back, fingers tracing patterns there.

“I love you,” he whispered, winding the end of her hair through his fingers. Her head shifted, and she met his eyes, looking at him in the dim cabin light. 

“What?” he asked, suddenly self conscious— she was just staring at him, not responding, though this wasn't the first time they'd spoken those words to each other. Still, it had been a year in between now and then—

“I love you too,” she said. “So, so much.” 

His heart skipped a beat as she just stared at him, and then her face broke out into a wide grin, and she leaned forward to kiss him. He smiled against her lips, and she grinned back, both of them perfectly content to stay like this. 

Lydia broke away a minute later, breathless, resting her chin on his chest. His hands roamed up her sides, fingers brushing his worn t-shirt that was way too big on her.

“You need to rest more,” she insisted, kissing him again briefly, tangling her legs with his. 

“Okay,” Stiles conceded, knowing better than to fight. Lydia settled her head down into his shoulder again as he pulled the blanket back over both of them. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she murmured into his shoulder, sliding her eyes shut. Stiles nodded, but he just lay there a moment more, taking in the sight of the girl before him, his heart thumping at how much she meant to him. 

“Yeah,” he whispered back, tightening his arms around her. “I am too.”

***

Lydia woke up a couple hours later to find Stiles still sound asleep. It was only two in the morning standard time, and Stiles’s system was so full of drugs that he needed the extra rest, so she let him sleep on. But Lydia couldn’t sleep— her dreams had been haunted again by those same visions of the lava planet, the horizon burning, the air heavy with the smell of sulfur, and the dark haired woman with the wild, vibrant blue eyes, screaming  _ “Where are they, Derek? What did you do with them?”  _

She didn’t think she could sleep more if she wanted to. 

Instead she went in search of Allison. Scott wasn’t back yet, she could tell— she felt he was safe, but he still wasn’t here. His customary bunk in the hold was empty, too— instead, Allison sat at the Dejarik table in sweatpants and a loose shirt, her feet tucked up, reading something on the holopad in front of her. 

“Hey,” she said softly when she caught sight of Lydia. Lydia immediately flopped down next to her friend, resting her head on her shoulder. “Can’t sleep?” 

“Can I ever?” Lydia muttered. She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily. “Stiles helps, but…” She lifted her head off Allison’s shoulder, meeting the other girl’s eyes. “The first thing I’m doing after this war is over is buying the strongest oral sedatives I can find in  _ bulk.”  _

“Still those weird nightmares?” Allison asked. Lydia nodded. 

“That same woman. Dark hair, wild eyes. Planet covered in lava. Still screaming  _ ‘where are they?’” _

“That’s so strange,” Allison murmured. “And you’ve never seen the woman before?” 

“No, never. Not in real life.” Lydia shook her head. “I don’t know, Scott has a theory that they have something to do with my powers. Now that he’s back I’ll ask him what he thinks.” 

“Is he back for good?” Allison asked, and Lydia could see her trying to act indifferent, but she didn’t miss the faint blush in her friend’s cheek. 

“I think so,” Lydia replied, grinning. “Why do you ask?” 

Allison gave Lydia a look. “I was just wondering.  _ Gods.”  _

Lydia smiled back, and Allison couldn’t help it; rolling her eyes, she laughed. “You really like him, don’t you?” Lydia teased, and Allison shrugged, trying to bite back a smile. 

“I don’t know. I barely  _ know  _ him, really,” Allison said. She looked at Lydia again, tugging on her lip with her teeth, trying to hide her smile. “But he's sweet. He’s always been nice to me, even when I probably don’t deserve it. And he’s never judged me by where I came from.” 

“Scott’s like that,” Lydia agreed, shrugging. “He always sees the best in people. He always gives people another chance, even if they don’t deserve it.” She felt Allison stiffen next to her, and Lydia bit her tongue, regretting her words immediately. “I don’t mean you, Allison,” she assured her friend. 

Allison shrugged. “No, you should mean me. My family has— no,  _ I—  _ have done some things I probably don’t deserve forgiveness for.” She looked up, meeting Lydia’s eyes. “I told you about when I was in the Academy. Seeing everything you and Scott and Stiles have done for the good of the galaxy, while I was creating weapons for the Empire and my family was distributing them, or assassinating people who spoke out, or…” she trailed off. 

“Allison,” Lydia started, resting a hand on her friend’s arm. “We’re no saints, okay? Scott blew up a Galactic Space Station  _ crawling  _ with civilians. Stiles used to smuggle  _ spice  _ for crime lords that were Empire sympathizers. And I…” her voice caught, and she glanced away. “I sacrificed my entire planet for the safety of the Rebellion.” 

“Lydia,” Allison said, voice soft, but Lydia just shook her head. 

“No, I did.” Her breath hitched, the emotion in her voice heavy. “Everyone tells me it’s not my fault, but it is. I tried to save everyone, and my planet paid the price. I’m still coming to terms with it,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I’ll ever  _ not  _ feel guilty.” 

Allison stayed silent; instead of speaking, she just put her arm around Lydia’s shoulder, pulling her closer. Lydia blinked back tears as she rested her head on Allison’s shoulder, the comforting touch of her best friend keeping her grounded. Gods, Lydia was so grateful for Allison. The only friends she really had on base were Scott and Stiles— everyone else still saw her as a princess too much to treat her completely normally. Becoming friends with Allison over the past year was the only thing that had kept Lydia sane through the search for Stiles. She wasn’t sure where she would be without the other girl. 

“See?” Lydia murmured, her head still resting on Allison’s shoulder. “Anything you did in the past— weapons you created, battles you fought for the Empire. Things your family has done. You’re here now, and you’re making it right.” 

“Thank you,” Allison sighed. “Seeing my aunt again today…” She trailed off, before speaking again. “It reminded me of my family, and what they stand for.” She shook her head, looking down. “I don’t want to stand for the same things. I want to help. Protect those who can’t protect themselves.” 

“You’re in the right place, then,” Lydia said, sitting up and smiling at her friend. 

“So what now?” Allison asked. “We found Stiles. Now what do we do?” 

Lydia shrugged. “Now we go back to the Rebellion. Hopefully they’ve made some headway over the past couple months. I don’t know,” Lydia sighed. “I feel like the end is near.” 

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Allison asked. “To think of a world without war. As long as I can remember, this has been it. It’s strange to think that the galaxy might actually see peace. A world without oppression.” 

“I know,” Lydia agreed, because since she was born, this was all she had known. From the time she was a junior senator, arguing with Grand Moffs at the age of fourteen, to now, a leader of the Rebellion— Lydia wasn’t exactly sure what her life would look like without war in it. 

After all this was over, she hoped she would get the chance to find out. 

***

Scott returned early the next morning, after saying goodbye to his mother and father, promising to be safe, and connecting them to his personal commlink. He promised after the war was over that he would come back to them. Melissa had just smiled at him, knowing he had to finish his quest with the Rebellion first. 

Stiles, Lydia, and Allison were in the galley when he returned, Stiles frying something in a pan, Lydia perched on the counter next to him, swinging her feet. Scott inhaled the scent of sizzling food, grinning. The time he had spent overnight in Jackson's dungeon hadn't done anything for his hunger. 

“That smells delicious,” Scott said, and all three of them whipped around to look at him, grinning widely. 

“Scotty!” Stiles exclaimed, abandoning his pan and almost skipping over to his best friend. “I can  _ see _ you!” 

“I'd like to hope Lydia wasn't letting you cook while blind,” Scott said, embracing his friend. “So you're feeling better?” 

“Healthy as a dewback,” Stiles responded, returning to his pan. “Want breakfast?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Scott said. Even though his mother had fed him, he was still hungry. 

“So what did you find in Mos Espa?” Allison asked, stealing a strip of bacon from the pan, dodging Lydia’s reprimanding slap to her wrist, and popping the piece of meat in her mouth. 

“My parents,” Scott replied, still a little unbelieving at what had happened. Both Stiles and Lydia's jaws dropped. 

“What do you mean, your parents?” Lydia questioned.

“I mean Melissa and Noah,” he continued. “My grandparents, technically, but the parents that raised me. They weren't at the farm when the Empire burned it down, apparently. They're living in Mos Espa now. They're safe.” 

“That's amazing, Scott,” Lydia said, awestruck, her smile shining brightly. 

Stiles took the pan off the small stove, scraping the meal inside onto different plates for them. 

“So after this, back to the base?” he asked, looking at Scott. Scott shook his head— as much as he wanted to say yes, he had to go back to Talia. He'd felt a disturbance in the Force this morning, on his way back to the Falcon, and he knew something was wrong— Talia was calling out to him, signalling him back. 

“I have to go back to Dagobah,” he said, looking down. “I can feel it in the Force. I have to see Talia.” Lydia's smile faded a little, so he quickly continued, “It won't be for long. You guys go back to the base, and I'll meet you there tomorrow. Dagobah is on the way, and I only need to stop quickly.” 

“Okay,” Lydia said, nodding, exchanging a look with Allison. “We'll head back to base with Danny and Chewie, and you meet us there tomorrow.” She looked at Stiles, smirking. “I've been gone for a couple months, so I'm sure everything has fallen apart by now.” 

Scott laughed. Knowing everything Lydia put into the Rebellion, she was probably right. 

***

Something felt off when Scott stepped back onto Dagobah. The misty jungle planet looked and felt the same on a superficial level— still humid, still swampy, still dark and foggy— but within the Force, something was wrong. A distressed buzzing, summoning him back to Talia's hut. 

He cut through the jungle quickly, now at ease with the maze-like landscape of the planet, until he arrived at the small mud hut. He knocked tentatively before heading in— and the sight inside made his stomach drop. 

Talia was curled up in an armchair, wrapped in a thick, earth-colored blanket, close to the warm fire burning on the hearth. She looked sickly and weak— her skin was pallid, her hair not as shiny, and her eyes, when she turned to look at Scott, were dim. 

“Scott,” she said, her voice broken and hushed, and Scott immediately rushed to her side. 

“Master Talia,” he breathed, taking her hand. “Are you okay? What do you need, I'll get—” 

“Calm down, Scott,” she replied quietly. “There's nothing you can do. It is simply my time.” 

Scott shook his head in disbelief. “No, no, don't say that. We'll get you somewhere, there are doctors—” 

“I've been in exile a long time, Scott,” she said, silencing him again. “I never knew why my life must continue, when the balance in the Force was gone, my way of life destroyed. But now I know why. It was because of you.” 

Scott glowed at the high praise from his master, but still, he could only focus on saving her. 

“Master Talia, please, you can't die,” he begged. “I can take you to the Rebellion, we can save you—” 

“You already have saved me, child,” she said, smiling fondly at him. “So do not pity me. Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter. The Force has long been my ally, and now, I am ready to join it.” 

“But I need you,” Scott said, his voice broken. 

She smiled again. “You don't need me. I have taught you everything I know. You will bring peace to this galaxy and guide a new generation of Jedi.” She paused, looked right at him. “And I will always be with you, as Derek is. Look only in the Force, and I will be there.” 

“I can't do this alone,” Scott pleaded. Bring peace to the galaxy— train a new generation of Jedi? As Stiles liked to remind him, he could barely take care of himself and his squadron. Now he was supposed to win the war by himself? 

“You can, Scott,” Talia said, her voice growing even quieter. “But even so, you are not alone.” Scott's brow furrowed in confusion. Hadn't she just said—? Talia's eyes slipped closed, her chin slowly falling forward. “There... is... another.”

“What do you mean—” Scott began to ask, but Talia's breath was becoming more labored. “Master—” 

“The Force... is calling me... Scott,” she barely managed to whisper. “And I... must join it.” One last time, she opened her eyes and looked right into his. “You have made me... very proud... to be a Jedi Wolf,” she said, her eyes burning bright red for a final time. Scott bowed his head, and when he looked back up, Talia was gone, the large, sleek black wolf curled in the chair instead. The wolf sighed once, before it became still and serene and Talia was gone. 

Scott sat there for a moment, fear and sadness and a million other things washing over him, before he heard a voice. 

“Scott,” someone said behind him, and Scott jumped, coming face to face with the ghost of Derek. 

“Derek,” Scott said. “Talia—” 

“I know,” Derek said, nodding his head at the old werewolf. “Why don't we go outside.” 

Scott followed the ghost outside the hut, sitting next to him on a fallen log (could ghosts sit? This entire thing was very strange to Scott— he still couldn't really wrap his head around the fact that he was speaking with a ghost.)

“Okay, first,” Scott said, now remembering how many things he had to grill Derek on. “My parents— Melissa and Noah, that is, are alive. And Melissa told me that you didn't let her tell me about the Jedi, or anything?” 

“It was to protect you,” Derek said. Scott rolled his eyes at that. “Seriously, it was. If you knew about the Force, about Jedi, it would've been easier for the Emperor to find you. They've been hunting down and slaughtering the escaped or newborn Jedi since the fall of the Republic. You were safest not knowing.” He glanced at Scott. “Is that it?” 

Scott almost laughed. “No.” He paused, looking at Derek’s ghost. “You’re my father.” 

At that, Derek froze. 

“She told you,” he said finally, voice quiet. 

“Yes,” Scott confirmed. “Why didn’t  _ you?”  _

When Derek didn’t answer, Scott kept going, his frustration bubbling over. “Nineteen years, you were within walking distance of my house, and never  _ once _ did you come check up on me. And when you finally  _ did _ talk to me, you still didn’t tell me.” 

“How could I have, Scott?” Derek asked. “How could I tell you without telling you  _ everything?”  _ He sighed. “I wanted to be in your life, more than anything. But I couldn’t put all that on a little kid.” 

“I’m not little anymore,” Scott answered. “Tell me now.” 

Derek sighed again, briefly meeting Scott’s eyes. “Your mom— Melissa, I mean— and I grew up in slavery,” he started, although Scott already knew this part. “When I was six one of the Hutts gambled us on a pod race and lost. We got sent to a Toydarian parts salvager in Mos Espa, and we both worked in his shop. When I was nine, a Jedi Wolf named Laura Hale came into the shop.” 

Derek paused, but Scott kept listening with bated breath. “She had gotten stranded on Tatooine with the Queen of Naboo, and I helped them win the parts they needed for their damaged ship through a pod race bet with my owner. Part of the bet was that I went free and traveled to Coruscant with Laura to learn to be a Jedi. She heard my name and thought I was some— child of prophecy, or something.” 

“Why  _ is _ your name different?” Scott interrupted. “Mom always told me she gave me my dad’s last name.” 

“Skywalker  _ is _ my last name,” Derek answered. “It’s Melissa’s maiden name. I changed it to Kenobi after a couple years at the temple. It didn’t mean anything; it was just some name I’d heard once in an old holo,” he supplied. “Every time someone heard Skywalker, they would freak out about some prophecy, and I hated it.  I wanted to just be normal for once in my life, and Laura told me I could change it. I went by Kenobi after that. But that’s not important,” he said, glancing at Scott before continuing.

“When I was nineteen, I got assigned a mission without Laura for the first time. Protecting a Noobian senator from bounty hunters who wanted her dead. But they put your mother on the mission with me. Your biological mother. I had known her a little from the temple, but during that mission…” he trailed off. 

“She was incredible. One of the best fighters in the Pack of our age, smart, cunning. A model student, and a skilled Jedi. We fell in love,” Derek told Scott. “We were really young, and really stupid. We thought we could keep it a secret, even though it was against the rules. Laura had never exactly been one for following rules, and your mother wasn’t a fan of how the Jedi Pack was run. And then the war started, and we were off on missions all the time, fighting battles, and no one paid attention to anything going on but the fighting.” 

“What was her name?” Scott asked, quietly. He wanted Derek to keep talking, but he also wanted something to call this woman other than Vader. 

“Jennifer,” Derek said, voice hushed and heartbroken. “Jennifer Blake.” 

Scott remained silent, and a moment passed before Derek started talking again. “It was three years into the war when we found out she was pregnant. I had been off world fighting for months, and she was doing everything she could to keep the Pack from finding out— but she was so scared that they would take you from us. She had always been close with the Emperor— he saw the power in her, knew what her potential was. He got in her head, twisted her thoughts about the Pack. So she turned to him, and he promised her power, and safety, in exchange for joining the dark side. For becoming his new apprentice. By the time I found out, it was too late.” He paused again, voice heavy. “I confronted her about it, and she insisted it was the only way to keep you safe from the Jedi. The Emperor turned her completely against the Pack. Against me.” He inhaled. “She went into labor, and I didn’t know what to do. I took her to Talia and Senator Organa. Lydia’s mom,” he supplied. “We kept her sedated and delivered you. And then we kept you hidden.” 

Scott sat motionless, almost unable to process all this information. But Derek kept talking, voice strained, eyes down. 

“When she woke up she went crazy. Went back to the Emperor, surrendered herself completely to the dark side. I followed her to Mustafar. We fought,” Derek said, sighing. He buried his head in his hands briefly, then continued. “Master Talia told me to kill her. But I couldn’t. I left her, mangled beyond recognition, on the lava banks, body burned and scarred. I thought she had died,” he admitted. “But then the Emperor revealed Darth Vader, and I knew it was her. I could feel it.” Derek paused. “The last thing I heard her scream when I left her on Mustafar was,  _ ‘Where are they, Derek? Tell me where they are.’  _ She was talking about you.” 

Derek swallowed, and Scott could sense the emotion he was trying to mask, even as a ghost. “I don’t know what the Emperor did to her, but that monster who terrorizes the galaxy now, that's  _ not _ Jennifer. That's not the woman I knew.” 

“You should have told me,” Scott said quietly. Derek nodded his head weakly in agreement. 

“Yeah. I should have.” 

Scott hesitated, debating whether or not to ask the question he so desperately wanted an answer to. 

“Do you think there’s still good in her?” he finally asked, and Derek’s head turned tiredly toward Scott. 

“I don’t know, Scott,” he admitted. “The first time I fought her as Vader, I would have immediately said no. She was changed. Wild, unhinged. I’d never seen someone so different from the woman I’d known. The last time I fought her— I’m not so sure. It’s easier to think that no, there isn’t any good left in her, because— because if there were, that means I didn’t fight hard enough to save her.” Derek paused, the silence heavy around them. “I’d like to think there’s a way to bring her back, but I don’t think that’s realistic anymore. After everything she’s done.” 

“I think there’s still hope,” Scott said assuredly. “There must be.” 

Derek smiled faintly. “That’s what Talia thought too, once she saw you were born. That there was still hope.”

“She thought I could turn her back? Save her?” 

“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Derek admitted. “I think she meant there was still hope, because now there was  _ you.  _ I wasn’t the child of prophecy. The one destined to bring balance to the Force and peace to the galaxy. That had always been you.” 

Scott fell silent again, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. To know Talia, the wisest of all the Jedi, believed he was a new hope for the galaxy— Scott knew he could fight for the Rebellion, knew he could be a good soldier, and while he was determined to fight this battle, try his hardest to win, everyone telling him he was the last hope for the war, for the Jedi, for the  _ galaxy _ — it was daunting. 

“I have to go back to the Rebellion,” Scott realized. He turned to Derek, his eyes determined. “After this war is over, you better…  _ appear _ to me, or whatever, because I have about a thousand more questions. But right now, Lydia and the others are waiting for me. But— Talia said something. She said there's another like me. What was she talking about?” 

Derek looked away from Scott. “She's not like you. Her powers are different. But she's strong with the Force.” 

“Like Lydia?” Scott asked, curious. Were there more sentients like her out there? 

“Not  _ like _ Lydia,” Derek said.  _ “Lydia. _ She's the other.” 

“Lydia is?” Scott said, aghast. “Why didn't you tell me?” 

“Because you would have told her,” Derek said. “And it was important to keep  _ you _ hidden from the Empire, but it was even more important to keep her from the Emperor.” 

“Why?” 

“Because she's different than us, Scott,” Derek sighed. “Maybe more powerful. There are just legends about the things she is, no concrete facts. And if her real mother had known—” 

“Her whole planet's dead, Derek,” Scott reminded him. 

“Alderaan was her home, but that's not where she comes from,” Derek said, still not looking at Scott. “She comes from the same place as you.” 

“I—  _ what?” _ Scott asked, now even more confused than ever. 

“She's your sister, Scott,” Derek said. 

Scott's jaw dropped. “Wait,  _ what?” _

Derek sighed. “You and Lydia are twins.” 

Scott glared at Derek, trying to process this information. “So, all those years you watched over me on Tatooine, not only did you think it not important to mention that I'm part werewolf, you’re my dad, and that my mother is a sociopath, but you also failed to mention that I have a long lost  _ sister?”   _

“Twin sister,” Derek said, shrugging, looking back at Scott, finally. “Master Talia, Senator Organa, and I separated you two at birth to keep you hidden. We were the only people who knew you were twins.” 

“Why would you do that? Separate us?” Scott demanded. 

“Scott, haven't you been listening? We had to keep you  _ safe. _ Werewolves raised together form pack bonds. It makes us stronger with the Force. That's why kids were raised together in the old Jedi Pack. A pack that grows up and trains together is much stronger than a lone omega wolf. And with two Jedi parents, we knew you and Lydia would be very strong. If you had been brought up together it would have been nearly impossible to conceal your Force abilities, and the Empire would have found you.” Derek met his eyes with an intensity Scott would not have thought possible for a ghost. 

“Anything else you're keeping from me?” Scott asked, only slightly irritated. 

“No,” Derek said, looking down. “I'm sorry I lied. But I had to keep you safe.” 

Scott sighed, looking at his old mentor. “Derek—” 

“No, Scott, you don't get it,” Derek cut in. “You two are our last hope. The  _ only _ hope for restoring peace to the galaxy.” 

Scott stood up. “Okay.” 

Derek looked confused as Scott began to walk back to his X-Wing. “Where are you going?” 

“Back to the Rebellion,” Scott said. “You said the fate of the galaxy rests on me, right? Well, I've got a war to win.” 

And with that, he turned away from the ghost of his father, walking deeper into the jungle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday everyone! Here's a new chapter for ya. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Scott arrived back at the fleet only a few standard hours after Lydia, Stiles, Allison, Chewie, and Danny. Apparently word of their great escape had spread through the Rebellion and the galaxy like wildfire— pilots from Omega Squadron clapped him on the back, congratulated him, said they saw on the HoloNet that Jackson was dead. Scott grinned at his squadron, starting to make his way over to his friends, on the other side of the mess hall, but before he could go anywhere, Chancellor Deaton cut him off. 

“Commander Skywalker. My office. Now, please,” Deaton said, his voice even and calm, but clearly hiding large levels of aggravation. He turned away from Scott, looking towards Lydia and Stiles. “You too, Commander Organa. Captain Solo. And you, Chewbacca.” 

All four of them followed Deaton into his office, sitting forlornly in front of his desk. The Chancellor didn't say anything, just breathed slowly, tapping his fingers together. Finally, he looked up, meeting their eyes. 

Deaton sighed, looking at them with half annoyance, and half blasé acceptance. “Please,  _ please _ tell me you didn't take military leave to murder a very powerful crime lord and his posse of equally powerful pirates and bounty hunters,” he pleaded. 

“Hey, hey, come on,” Stiles responded.  _ “Murder?”  _ he said incredulously. “Look, there may have been a little mangling, okay, a little maiming, but no  _ death.  _ That's what I call an important distinction.” 

Deaton raised a brow. 

“I strangled Jackson to death with a chain,” Lydia said, deadpan, absolutely no qualms in her voice. 

“And I blew up their entire barge,” Scott added, unapologetic. 

“Okay, well  _ I _ didn't see any death,” Stiles cut in. Chewie growled at him, reminding him he knocked Kate Argent into the Sarlaac's mouth. Stiles rolled his eyes. 

Lydia winced. “Technically, we didn't take military leave to  _ specifically _ do that. It just kind of... happened to be a consequence of our actions.”  

“Well, please resist from murdering any powerful crime lords in the imminent future, alright? The Rebellion has enough enemies as it is without getting on the bad side of the Hutt clan.” 

“Yes, Chancellor,” Lydia replied, all military again. 

“Regardless, we are very glad to have you back safely,” Deaton added, smiling somewhat fondly. “You too, Captain Solo. We've been scraping by without your supply runs.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Stiles said, shifting uncomfortably. Scott froze. For a second, he truly believed Stiles was going to say he had to leave again. Lydia was clearly thinking the same thing, as her face had turned white as a sheet. 

Stiles sighed. “I figure it's time I quit pretending and officially join this thing. So, how do I get a commission?” 

Lydia's face broke into the biggest smile that Scott had seen since before Stiles was kidnapped. Honestly, Scott was sure a similar grin was gracing his face at the idea of his best friend  _ finally _ joining the Rebellion. Officially, anyway. Unofficially, Stiles had been a part of this movement since he'd helped blow up the Death Star. 

“Okay,” Deaton said, a grin on his face as well, all aggravation at their antics gone from his voice. “We'll talk to General Morell next. And all of you,” Deaton said, looking from Stiles to them. “We have an important meeting in an hour. I expect you all to be there. Lydia, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak to you alone.” 

“Of course, Chancellor,” Lydia replied, as the boys stood up and left, Chewie behind them. 

“Wonder what the meeting's about,” Scott mused once they were out of the office, the door sliding shut behind them. 

Stiles shrugged. “Probably something not good and very dangerous, based on the word 'important' before ‘meeting.’”

Scott laughed. “You're right; generally 'important' means life threatening and extremely dangerous.” 

Chewie grumbled something about how he was going to check some things on the Falcon, leaving Scott and Stiles alone in the bright hallway. “Hey, Stiles?” Scott asked, his voice low, his eyes suddenly anxious. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles said, looking at his friend curiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” Scott hesitated. “I found something out, last year, on Bespin. And I just— I really need to tell someone about it.” 

“Of course, Scott,” Stiles said, resting his hand on Scott’s arm. “Tell me anything. What is it?” 

Scott took a deep breath. “It’s kind of— hard to believe,” he said, his voice still low. “And, I just— promise it won’t change the way you look at me?” 

“Scott, you’re scaring me now,” Stiles said, giving his friend a look mixed between concern and bewilderment. “But of course it won’t change how I think about you. You’re my best friend, man. That’s not gonna change.” 

Scott inhaled, looking Stiles right in the eye. “Darth Vader is my mother,” he finally spit out, watching as Stiles’s jaw dropped. 

“Wait— Vader is a  _ woman?”  _ Stiles asked, aghast. Scott just nodded. “But— how is that even  _ possible?” _ Stiles asked, his voice hushed. “You know, given the whole life-support suit, I figured he— she, I mean— couldn’t— you know—”

Scott shook his head. “No, before she was Vader. She used to be a Jedi. Jennifer Blake.” 

“Wait,” Stiles said. “Your mom was  _ Jennifer Blake?”  _

“You  _ knew _ her?” Scott asked, jaw dropped. Stiles almost laughed. 

“Oh my gods, Scott, everyone knew her,” Stiles said. “She and Derek Kenobi— they were like the poster kids of the Republic during the war.” 

“Yeah, Derek Kenobi,” Scott said. “The guy who you picked me up with on Tatooine? He’s my dad.”

“That’s the  _ same _ Derek? I  _ knew _ he looked familiar!” Stiles said, eyes wide. “Oh my gods, how did I never realize that?” He paused, going back to what Scott had said before. “But he’s your  _ dad?” _ Scott nodded. “Did you know?” Stiles asked, voice hushed. 

“Not until Vader told me,” Scott said. “I guess when they were young they fell in love. Back when they were both still Jedi.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I remember seeing them on the HoloNews as a kid, when I was living on the streets of Corellia,” he added. “They were always together. They would take down hordes of separatists, from the footage that was always playing.” Stiles sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe they’re your parents. I can’t believe Jennifer is  _ Vader.”   _

Scott worried his lip, waiting for Stiles to say something else. His best friend met his eyes, and they were soft, apologetic, accepting. Scott almost exhaled in relief. “Well, that sucks, Scotty, but it doesn’t change anything. I know you, and you’re not her. I don’t care who your mother is— you’re still my best friend.” Stiles grinned at him, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ve still got me.” 

Scott grinned back, so thankful to have a friend like Stiles. Kest, he had missed him so much in the time he had been frozen. This last year on Dagobah had been rough without him— sure, Scott had Lydia to fall back on, to comm when training got too much for him to handle, too emotionally exhausting, but sometimes, Scott just needed  _ Stiles.  _ Having him here, in front of him, smiling and laughing and  _ breathing,  _ not frozen in carbonite— Scott had never been so grateful before. 

“You’ve really been keeping that to yourself for a year?” Stiles asked. “Kriff, Scott.” 

Scott shrugged. “I didn’t want to tell Lydia,” he admitted. “I know she wouldn’t mean to, but— she has a much darker past with Vader.” He sighed. “I don’t know how she’ll react. And she had enough to worry about, with you missing.” He didn’t even want to think about the other thing he was keeping from her— Scott wasn’t sure how exactly she was going to react to the revelation that Vader was their  _ mother.  _ For her sake and sanity, he was going to try to keep it to himself for as long as possible. 

Stiles shook his head, his expression laced with guilt, like his biggest regret for being frozen in carbonite for a year was how it had affected  _ Lydia.  _ Knowing Stiles, that probably  _ was _ his biggest regret.  

“Well, I’m here for you, buddy,” Stiles said. “And you know that really, it won’t change how Lydia sees you. You’re still one of her best friends.” 

Scott nodded. “I know. I just don’t want to put her through that right now.” 

Stiles nodded, understanding. “Well, what do you think of putting ourselves through the dinner line in the mess hall before this meeting? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m  _ starving.”  _

Scott laughed, looking at his best friend’s smirk, counting his lucky stars to have Stiles back here on base with them, alive and unfrozen. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

***

When they entered the meeting room an hour later, Stiles's head was spinning. 

Scott, Chewie, and he quickly made their way over to Lydia, seated at the front of the room, right in front of the holotable. Danny and Allison were next to her, and they were chatting quietly. Stiles wondered if Lydia had convinced Danny to ask for a commission yet as well— according to Scott, she’d already gotten to Allison a year ago. 

After eating, Scott and Stiles had spent the past hour exploring the new ship that seemed to be heading the fleet; they hadn't realized exactly how much speed the Rebellion had gained in the past year. On Hoth, they had just been a segregated cell of the Rebellion, but this, here— hundreds of pilots, ships full of X-wings and Y-wings, generals and admirals and all the other highest-ranking officials— this felt  _ real.  _ This felt like they could really do something. 

“I thought you said the Rebellion was gonna fall apart without you,” Stiles muttered to Lydia, sitting down next to her. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “How is it that they seem to have multiplied exponentially sinch Hoth?” 

“Well I did do things  _ before _ I went on leave,” Lydia joked, smirking. “But Hoth was just one Rebel cell. This is all the cells combined. Plus, we’ve had a lot of defectors from the Empire recently, and the Mon Calamari recently donated more ships— that's their military leader there, Admiral Finstock—” Lydia pointed out a reddish, aquatic looking sentient standing at the front of the room, his fish-like head turned towards Chancellor Deaton, deep in conversation. “—They brought almost their entire fleet with them— all the big starships are from Mon Cala.” 

“I'm assuming this one is too?” Stiles asked, glancing around the gleaming white, state of the art meeting room. “No offense, but this doesn't really look like it's within the Rebellion's budget.” 

“No, it's not,” Lydia agreed. “This is Home One. It's Admiral Finstock's flagship, and the head of the fleet. We've been using it as a base, sort of, in between missions. But this is it. This is  _ everyone.  _ This is the whole Rebellion.” 

“Everyone,” Chancellor Deaton began, turning away from the Mon Calamari and addressing the room. Admiral Finstock stood somberly next to him, Generals Finch, Morell, and Flemming on either side of him. Based on the number of important people in the room, in addition to the fact that the leader of the Rebellion was addressing them, Stiles figured this was pretty important. 

“Thank you for coming,” Deaton continued, surveying the room of soldiers. “We have very urgent news. Our Bothan spies within the Empire have alerted us that the Empire has begun construction on a bigger, more powerful Death Star.” 

A hushed whisper raced through the room. More powerful? The last one had been able to destroy a planet in the blink of an eye; how could this one be worse? 

“However, it is currently inoperable, still under construction, and that leaves it vulnerable.” Deaton glanced around. “It is moored in the orbit of the remote forest moon Endor, protected by heavy shields. If we can get onto Endor and disable the shields, then the fleet can destroy the Death Star II before millions more lives are lost.” 

All the soldiers in the room looked at each other, whispering quietly to others. This already sounded like a suicide mission, and Deaton wasn't even done talking. 

“There's more,” Deaton said, and the room fell silent again. “We have learned recently that the Emperor himself will be personally overseeing the end of construction, and that he is currently on the Death Star. If we destroy it while he is on board—” everyone looked around, barely daring to believe what that would mean— “without the Emperor, the Empire is left weak and confused,” Deaton said. “They have no one to pull them all together. And we can strike, while they're vulnerable. And maybe, we can win this war.” 

Hushed talk exploded in the room, everyone both eager for the end of the war and terrified at the daunting mission ahead of them. Deaton cleared his throat again, and everyone quieted.

“In order to get to the Death Star, we'll have to send a small mission to the surface of Endor to disable the shields so that our fleet can close in and take the Empire by surprise. The area is heavily patrolled by Imperial warships. We've managed to acquire an Imperial shuttle and clearance codes that will get us past the Empire's guard. Once we land on Endor, the shield generator will have to be taken out, and the fleet can take out the Death Star.” 

“Well that doesn't sound dangerous at all,” Stiles muttered. Lydia rolled her eyes at him. 

“We cannot waste this chance,” Deaton continued. “Many Bothans died to get us this information.” 

“This sounds like a suicide mission,” Stiles whispered to Scott. “I wonder who they got to lead it. They've gotta be out of their mind.” 

“Commander Organa—” Deaton said, and Stiles's head snapped to his girlfriend, who had sat up straighter, looking right at the Chancellor. “—has been promoted to General. She will be leading the mission.” 

Stiles's jaw dropped. “Seriously?” he whispered loudly at her. She just gave him a look. 

“Quiet, soldier,” she teased, eyebrow arched. “I outrank you.” 

“Lydia, you were the one who brought us the key to destroying the first Death Star,” Deaton said, smiling slightly at the princess. “It seems only fitting you lead the mission to take down the second.” 

Lydia nodded her head. “Thank you, Chancellor.” 

“Everyone here— pilots,” Deaton continued, shifting to look at the whole room, “you will be flying in the air raid against the Death Star, under the command of Admiral Finstock.” Deaton nodded towards the Mon Calamari, who stepped forward slightly. “Admiral Finstock will be leading the attack on the Imperial Warships, while Gold Squadron, you rush the Death Star and blow it up. General Mahealani—” Stiles's eyes snapped to Danny now— what was today, make everyone a general day? “—you will lead Gold Squadron in the attack against the Death Star.” 

“Good luck,” Stiles muttered to Danny. Danny gave him a look. “What?” Stiles asked. “You're gonna need it.” 

“Everyone else, you will be under the command of General Organa and will be part of the ground assault,” Deaton continued. “General Organa—” Deaton paused, and Lydia looked up. “We just need a few volunteer crew members to fly the shuttle with you.” 

“Me!” Stiles immediately said. “Me. I'll go.” If Lydia was going to risk her life on some crazy, suicidal mission, he was at least going to go along and try to make sure she didn't get herself killed. 

Lydia gave him a look, and Stiles smirked. “Come on, like you're gonna let anyone else fly you around?” 

Lydia shrugged, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “Fair point.” 

“I'm in too,” Scott said, looking at Deaton and the rest of high command. Chewie growled that he was in as well. 

“Me too,” Allison said, nodding her head at Lydia. 

“Alright,” Deaton said. “That's settled, then. We'll debrief each group individually with finer details. You're dismissed.” 

Lydia grabbed Stiles's hand as they left the meeting room, Scott, Chewie, Allison, and Danny with them. 

“Congratulations,  _ General,”  _ Stiles told her sincerely, squeezing her hand. She smiled up at him gratefully. Stiles glanced back to Danny, and addressed him more sarcastically. “And  _ other _ general. Although why they thought it was a good idea to let you lead a squadron of pilots, I have no idea.” 

“Hey, treat your superiors with some respect,” Danny quipped, elbowing his friend. “I'm still shocked they let you join at all.” 

Stiles laughed, looking around at his friends. The weight of Deaton's words were still playing on loop in his head— this was a dangerous mission that could decide the fate of the galaxy. They could very easily die. This could be it. “What do you think?” he asked his friends soberly. “You really think this is it? The final battle?” 

“Stars, I hope so,” Scott said. “I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting really sick of cold showers and ration bars.” 

Stiles laughed, trying to focus on the fact that he was back, and he was with his friends, and put the thought of the fate of the galaxy resting on their shoulders far out of his mind. 

***

The hangar was eerily quiet as the shuttle landed. 

Stormtroopers stood silently in two lines, unmoving, perfectly silent. Vader could smell the nervousness rolling off of them as the ramp lowered and the Red Guard descended, the Emperor behind them. 

Vader hadn't seen the Emperor in person in a long time—between construction on the Death Star, fending off the newly-strengthened Rebellion, and their continued hunt for Scott, it had been a while since she had seen her master face to face. Vader felt the cool, powerful aura of the Force rolling off of him before he even stepped foot on the battle station. 

“At ease,” the Emperor coolly ordered the troops, and in line, the Stormtroopers quickly retreated back to their previous posts. The red guard followed behind silently, their Force-pikes held straight and their faces shrouded by their scarlet hoods. 

“Is the plan in order?” the Emperor asked, wasting no time at all. Vader nodded shortly. 

“The fleet is assembled on the other side of the moon,” Vader told him. “And the bunker on world is heavily guarded.” 

“Perfect,” The Emperor almost purred. Vader couldn't recall the last time he'd sounded so satisfied. 

“And they have no idea, right?” the Emperor checked. “If they're tipped off, the whole plan won't work.” 

“They do not know we let them steal that information,” Vader confirmed. “Or that it was only partial.” 

“This is going well, then,” the Emperor grinned, just his chin visible underneath his dark hood. “We'll turn Skywalker and destroy the Rebels for good all at once. And the station's weapons are operational, as well— but they have no idea. Oh, it's classic.” 

“Yes, my Lord,” Vader agreed. 

“Go to your star destroyer, and await my orders,” the Emperor instructed him. “When it's time, we will take down Skywalker.” 

The thought of her son suffering, killed when he wouldn't turn against his friends danced on the edge of Vader's mind— the recurring nightmare she'd been having recently, so similar to the ones she had gotten right before the Republic fell and her children were taken from her— 

Vader tamped down the vision. If the Emperor caught even a hint of her weakness— but they continued walking, the Emperor clearly not picking up on the turmoil inside his apprentice's mind. It was almost done now. They would turn Scott to the dark side, and the Rebels would be crushed for good, and then, Vader could be free of this pain. 

It was only a matter of time. 


	8. Chapter 8

“I still don't like this,” Stiles muttered as they exited hyperspace, the Imperial blockade and the planet of Endor zooming into view. It felt weird not flying the Falcon, and he didn't like the cold, prison like feeling of this transport— this shuttle could have moved slaves, or transported soldiers to battles that Stiles's friends had died in, or shuttled the leaders of the Empire from star destroyer to star destroyer. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” Lydia chided him, her forearms resting on the top of his seat and her head hovering over his shoulder. “You're just upset you're not flying the Falcon.” 

“No,” Stiles retorted, but Chewie and Scott laughed at him, because Lydia's accusation was so obviously true. Stiles had graciously lent the Falcon to Danny for the upcoming attack on the Death Star II— she  _ was _ the fastest ship in the galaxy, and seeing as she'd already helped take down the Death Star's predecessor— Stiles had made Danny promise she'd come back without a scratch, but still, Stiles felt uneasy. The feeling didn't go away the closer they got to the Imperial star destroyer ahead. 

“Okay, Chewie, fly us towards them, but not too close.” The wookiee gave Stiles a look from the copilot's seat. “Keep your distance, but try not to  _ look _ like you're keeping your distance.” 

_ That makes absolutely no sense,  _ Chewie growled at Stiles.  _ What do you want me to do? _

“I don't know!” Stiles exclaimed, though his voice was still hushed. They were in range of the Star Destroyer. “Fly casual!” 

“We have you on our scanners. Please identify,” A voice came over the comms, in a cool, clipped Coruscanti accent. Stiles waved his hands wildly, indicating for everyone to shut up. 

“Uh, Shuttle Tyderium, requesting deactivation of the deflector shields,” he replied, trying to keep his voice even. 

“Shuttle Tyderium, transmit the clearance code for shield passage.” 

“Transmission commencing,” Stiles told them, hitting the button to transmit their stolen clearance codes, praying to whatever god was listening that they were accepted. He knew the stolen set were older— hopefully not too old to raise any red flags. 

They sat in tense silence after the codes were transmitted, waiting for clearance. 

“Why's it taking so long?” Allison muttered, glancing between her friends. Scott suddenly froze in his place behind Chewie, his back stiffening. “Vader's on that ship,” he said quietly, not looking at his friends. 

Stiles arched his brow. “How can you possibly know that?” 

Scott gave Stiles a look. “I can hear her theme music,” he said, deadpan. His face stretched into a grin, evidently impressed by his own joke. 

“Seriously, Scott?” Stiles asked, giving his friend an unamused glare. 

“I  _ am _ serious,” Scott told him. “I can sense her.” Scott looked away. “And if I can sense her, she can—” Scott shook his head. “I shouldn't have come. I'm putting us in danger.” 

“Don't be so self-centered, Scotty,” Stiles quipped. “I'm sure they'd like us all equally dead.” Lydia snorted, Allison ducking her head, trying to hide her smile. 

“Shuttle Tyderium, state your business and cargo,” the operator suddenly said again. Stiles's stomach lurched. 

“Parts and technical equipment for the forest floor,” he said, followed by more silence on the other end. 

“I don't think they're buying it,” Lydia muttered grimly. “If we need to— how fast can you get us out of here?” 

Stiles huffed. “Seriously? You're worried about my speed?” 

Lydia scowled at him. “ _ No _ , I'm worried about the multiple gun towers on that ship, and the fact that we have no weapons on  _ this _ one.” 

“Shuttle Tyderium,” the voice came again, and they all tensed. “You've been cleared for landing. The shield will come down momentarily.”

All five of them heaved sighs of relief. 

“I  _ told _ you,” Stiles muttered to Lydia. She just shook her head, smirking to herself. 

***

Endor was peaceful and quiet, the earth covered in a thick blanket of fallen leaves and branches from the tall, leafy trees that grew everywhere. Sunlight poured through the canopy overhead, bathing everything in warm, dappled light. Vegetation everywhere was thick, and the only sounds they heard were the crunching of their feet on leaves and the birdsong from the trees. Stiles said the planet reminded him of Kashyyyk, to which Chewie had agreed- though the wookiee maintained his home planet was far superior. No one challenged him on that. 

They had landed the shuttle in a clearing a little ways away from the military bunker, seeing as they had no idea what they were walking into here— no information on how many Stormtroopers there would be, how heavily guarded the shield generator was, nothing. Lydia led them and the rest of the landing party quietly through the maze of trees, back towards the bunker the long way, as to not alert any Imperial patrols. 

Scott walked behind her and Stiles, Allison and Chewbacca at his side, all of them trying to be as quiet as possible, blasters held at the ready. A sound echoed above head, and everyone dropped to the floor immediately, their camouflaged ponchos helping them blend right into the leafy floor. 

Scott looked up, and instead of seeing a TIE fighter or an Imperial transport, saw a bird with long red and gold plumage. 

“Lantern bird,” Lydia supplied, seeing where Scott was looking. It didn't surprise anyone that she seemed familiar with the land and the wildlife. Lydia liked to research. She probably knew more about Endor right now that anyone else. 

“Oh, my,” Threepio exclaimed as the bird sailed away, and Stiles audibly groaned. Lydia elbowed him. 

“Remind me again why we had to bring Goldenrod?” Stiles asked, lagging back and stepping in line with Scott and Allison. Scott shrugged. “I mean, Artoo makes sense, he can hack tech and get us through doors. But is Lydia planning on having to translate anything while we're here? I thought we were blowing this bunker up and hightailing it back to command.” 

“You of all people should know that your girlfriend always has a plan,” Allison informed him. Stiles grinned like a lovesick idiot at the word “girlfriend.” Scott just laughed. 

“Everyone, quiet,” Lydia ordered, leading them up to the top of a ridge. They paused at the top, looking down the steep cliffside into the wooded area below. A stormtrooper stood below, blaster in hand, keeping patrol. 

“We have to get past here,” Lydia told Scott, Stiles, and Allison in hushed tones. “But there's no way he won't notice all of us.” 

“Chewie and I can take care of him,” Stiles volunteered. Chewie nodded in agreement. 

“Okay,” Lydia said, sounding only slightly wary, “but be really quiet. If they know we're here, the whole mission is compromised.”

“Hey, it's  _ me,”  _ Stiles pointed out with a grin— as if that was supposed to be comforting. Scott and Lydia both gave him identical unamused looks. Stiles just continued grinning, slinking down the hill to where the stormtrooper paced, Chewie behind him. 

Scott watched as Stiles and Chewie creeped around behind the lone stormtrooper. Stiles pulled out his blaster, nodding at Chewie, who was hidden in the brush. Stiles crept past the large tree he was hiding behind, right up behind the stormtrooper, and— he stepped on a twig. 

Lydia audibly groaned at the snapping sound that echoed through the forest, as the stormtrooper whipped around to face Stiles, crying out, “Hey!” Stiles took a swing at him with his fist, then fired off a shot with his blaster, but Lydia noticed movement in the treeline. 

“More,” she told Scott, nudging him, and sure enough, three stormtroopers were scrambling onto speeder bikes, revving the engines. 

“Get back to headquarters! Tell them there are rebels on the planet!” The stormtrooper cried to his comrades, as Stiles kicked him in the middle of his shiny white breastplate. 

“Oh no you don't!” Lydia spat bitterly, standing up and sprinting down the hill. 

“Lydia, wait—!” Scott cried out, racing down behind her. There was an empty bike — probably belonging to the stormtrooper Stiles and Chewie were currently fighting— parked next to one of the large trees. Lydia scrambled on, barely pausing long enough to let Scott clamber on behind her. He just wrapped his arms around her waist before she revved the motor, speeding off into the trees after the other stormtroopers. 

Any questions on whether or not Lydia had Force-capabilities were squashed at that moment, because she flew through the maze of thick tree trunks at top speed without a hint of hesitation. It reminded him of the stories Melissa had told him about his father ( _ their _ father, he kept forgetting) and pod-racing. Lydia navigated through the forest with deadly precision, swooping past trees and catching up to the stormtroopers in mere seconds. 

“Jam their commlink,” Scott suggested, pointing to a button on the bike's console. “That way they can't tell base we're here.” 

“Good idea,” she agreed, flicking the switch before twisting the acceleration even more. 

Soon they were up next to one of the troopers, their bikes barely a meter apart. The stormtrooper pulled his blaster on Scott, but Scott grabbed his weapon faster— one arm still braced on Lydia's shoulder, he stood up while straddling the bike, shooting the trooper straight in the chest and knocking him backwards off his bike. With a push of the Force, Scott leapt over to his abandoned bike, slinging a leg over the seat and grasping the handles. 

“I'll take the one farther up, you get the one behind him!” Lydia hollered over the howl of wind racing past them. Scott nodded, accelerating up to the other troopers. 

The two stormtroopers split directions, one veering to the left and one keeping straight ahead. Scott followed the one to the left, while Lydia continued on straight, and soon he could catch no glimpse of her through the thick trees. 

The trooper in front of him was just trying to outrun him at this point. Scott looked to the weapons equipped screen on the console— something was flashing and wrong. His guns wouldn't work. He'd have to get rid of the other trooper a different way— and that would mean getting closer. 

Scott sped through the trees, finally pulling up next to the other speeder. He was just about to pull out his blaster when the Stormtrooper slowed dramatically, until he was behind Scott. Scott was confused, until the trooper opened fire on him. 

Scott dodged the blaster bolts, though just narrowly. Navigating trees  _ and _ enemy fire wasn't going to be easy or safe. He was going to have to outsmart the stormtrooper. 

Scott could sense a huge tree ahead, right around the bend, and while Scott was good at avoiding the thick trunks, the stormtroopers seemed much more uneasy at that. Scott continued ahead, letting the stormtrooper think he had him cornered, before, at the last second, just before he hit the trunk, he veered sharply to the side. It was too late for the stormtrooper though— his bike collided spectacularly with the tree, sending off a huge explosion and an accompanying  _ boom _ . 

Scott had taken the corner too sharply though, his bike seat almost vertical from the quick swerve. The bike couldn't right itself, and Scott fell unceremoniously onto the forest floor, his bike crashing in flames a few yards ahead. 

Well. It looked like he was walking back to Stiles and Allison. 

***

Lydia swerved through the trees, determined to catch this stormtrooper. If he got word back to the Empire that they were here— the entire mission would be compromised. Lydia was  _ not _ letting that happen. 

Once she caught him again, it was easy to force him off the path— he was so focused on shooting her that he barely was looking where he was going. Lydia sped ahead of him, hoping he'd crash into the upcoming thicket of trees, but before he did, he shot at Lydia's back engine, sending the bike tipping and dumping her unceremoniously onto the ground. She immediately sprang up, shooting at him with her blaster, and when he turned around to fire shots back at her— that was when he lost focus of where he was going, and crashed directly into a tree. 

Lydia glanced around, sighing. She was out in the middle of the forest on a strange planet, completely cut off from her squadron— she sat down on a fallen log behind her, pulling her commlink out of her bag— figures, the Empire was jamming all channels but their own out here, and she had no reception. 

A sharp pain twinged in her leg, and she looked down, seeing that her pant leg had torn wide open from her fall, and her knee was heavily scraped, oozing blood. She winced, grabbing a bandage from her pack and binding the cut to stop the bleeding. 

Something rustled in the bushes behind her, and Lydia immediately tensed, standing up and pulling out her blaster. She aimed at the offending brush, but glanced all around her, over her shoulders— the last thing she wanted was to be caught unaware by a stormtrooper out here, all by herself. 

The bushes shook again, and Lydia cocked her blaster, ready to fire the second a stormtrooper revealed itself. However, the thing that came out of the bushes couldn't be  _ farther _ from a stormtrooper. 

Lydia could think of no better way to describe the creature than a children's toy— it literally looked like a stuffed teddy bear. The creature came up maybe to her waist, and it had big brown eyes, thick fur, and large paws, walking upright on its two legs. An earthy-colored piece of fabric covered its head like a shawl, with two slits cut for its rounded, fluffy ears. It held a wooden spear in its paw, and growled menacingly at Lydia— she was so taken aback by the cuddly looking creature trying to threaten her that she almost laughed. 

“Woah, calm down, I won't hurt you,” she assured the creature, who only narrowed its eyes and stared back at her, still looking ready to attack. That's when the name of the creature sprang into Lydia's mind— Ewoks, native dwellers of the planet, who lived in large tribes, spoke absolutely no basic, and, despite their adorable appearance, were actually pretty decent fighters. 

The ewok took a tentative step towards her when Lydia didn't move— he seemed to be curious about her as well. 

“I come in peace, I promise,” she said again, on the off chance that it knew any basic at all. The ewok just looked at her, though it lowered its spear. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Lydia asked, digging a ration bar out of her bag and offering it over. She assumed that he could fend for himself and probably didn't go hungry, but food seemed like a good peace offering. 

The ewok tentatively took the ration bar, taking a small bite, still looking at her. He swallowed that, then proceeded to eat the rest at rapid speed, walking closer to Lydia and sitting down next to her on the fallen log. 

Lydia sighed, taking her helmet off her head and placing it on the log next to her. Her hair was wound up in braids, crisscrossed across the crown of her head and then coiled at the nape of her neck, so that her camouflaged helmet would fit over her hair. The ewok scooted away, alarmed at her sudden movement. 

“No, it's fine,” Lydia said, trying to assuage the skittish creature. “It's just a hat.”

The ewok looked at the thing in her hand, tilting its head to the side in confusion. Lydia went to continue on, but before she could, blaster fire shot through the trees and ricocheted off the tree trunk next to them. 

“Down!” Lydia cried, diving behind the log, pulling out her blaster and aiming at the trees. The ewok had disappeared on the other side of the log— she was on her own. 

Lydia held her gun ready, aimed into the tree line, when suddenly, behind her, she heard shifting feet, and then, “Freeze!” 

She turned in dread, her stomach sinking, to see a stormtrooper behind her. “Drop your weapon,” the stormtrooper added, and Lydia let her blaster fall to the forest floor. 

“Comm command, tell them we picked up a rebel,” the stormtrooper said into his comms, and Lydia realized that there was another trooper in the forest with them, where the blaster shots had come from. Her mind raced, trying to figure out how to get out of this, when suddenly the stormtrooper cried out in pain, because there was a spear in his calf. 

Lydia's ewok friend howled in delight, slipping out from under the raised log, and Lydia didn't waste a second— she scooped her gun up off the forest floor and shot the trooper square in the chest. She scrambled up onto the log, trying to get a better view point— the other trooper was visible over the brush, hurriedly trying to mount his speeder bike. He started to zoom off, but Lydia fired bolt after blaster bolt at him, finally catching his back engine and sending the bike spiraling into a tree trunk in a brilliant explosion. 

Lydia sighed, hopping down off the log and looking at her new friend. “We have to get out of here,” she told him. “They'll send more. But I have no idea where I am.” The ewok seemed to understand, because he too scrambled off the log, reaching a furry paw up and grabbing her hand. He tugged her deeper into the forest, and Lydia wondered if it was such a good idea to go off with a strange creature on a strange planet controlled by Imperials. Was she walking into another Cloud City? 

Well, she and the ewok  _ had _ just taken down two stormtroopers together. And it wasn't like she had many other options anyway. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this is a day late, yesterday was Easter and I totally forgot. But I think this chapter marks the halfway mark in this story? Subject to change, of course, because we are drawing closer and closer to The Chapter I Am Adding A Ton Of Stuff To that I have yet to add to. (It's fine. We're all fine here. Situation normal.) I am taking the whole machete viewing order of Star Wars REALLY seriously in this story, guys. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to know what you think! As always, I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you ever want to talk. I hope you like this!

Stiles was getting impatient, waiting here. 

Every minute that passed without Lydia and Scott returning made him more anxious, clawed at his stomach, gnawed at his nerves. Kest, was this how Lydia had felt the whole time  _ he _ had been missing? In a sick, sadistic way, he almost hoped that she had, that she did feel that deeply about him, but— she'd been gone maybe twenty minutes, and he'd been gone a year, and the only thing he could think was  _ where is she? Is she safe? _ It was driving him insane with worry. How had Lydia been able to get anything done with this worry gnawing at her? 

“Where  _ are  _ they?” Stiles said, pacing back and forth again, before pausing, looking at Allison in front of him. Sighing dejectedly, he sat next to her on the log she was perched on, resting his head in his hands. 

“I’m sure they’re coming,” Allison said, voice certain. “They know how to take care of themselves.” 

“I know,” Stiles said, gnawing on his lip. “I just… worry about them. Anxiety, all that.” 

Allison nodded in understanding, eyes still trained on the treeline. Stiles glanced at his companion, and he couldn’t help noticing how stiff her back was, how uncomfortable she looked. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, hoping to distract her. Put her more at ease. “I meant to thank you, earlier. For sticking with Lydia this past year, while I was missing. She said you really kept her sane.” He paused before continuing. “And thank you for helping rescue me, too.” 

Allison shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “It was my fault you were frozen in carbonite,” she said. “It was the least I could do.” 

Stiles looked at her, her unease suddenly making sense. “Allison, I don’t blame you for that at  _ all,”  _ he assured her. “Jackson was gonna find me eventually, trust me. He’s an asshole like that. Kate’s been tracking me down for years. If I hadn’t already been frozen in carbonite Jackson probably would have tortured me for the past year instead of just stringing me up on the wall. So really, I should be  _ thanking  _ you.” 

She almost laughed at that, looking up to meet his eyes, finally. “Seriously,” Stiles reassured her. “No hard feelings or anything, okay? After everything Lydia and Scott have told me about what you’ve done for them… don’t worry about it.”

“I feel like they’re making me sound much better than I really am,” Allison said, glancing away again. 

“Trust me, as willing as Scott is to forgive  _ literally  _ everyone, he doesn’t embellish,” Stiles told her. “And he really likes you. What could you have possibly done that’s  _ that  _ bad?” 

Allison laughed darkly. “Well, I built stronger weapons for the Empire while I was in the Academy,” she started. “My aunt is a psychotic bounty hunter. My parents are weapons dealers high up in the Empire. My grandfather oversaw the construction of the first Death Star. Everyone else in my family is either a soldier or an assassin for the Emperor. I’ve caused a lot of pain,” she said. 

“The only thing I’m getting that  _ you  _ did is that you joined the Academy,” Stiles said. “And that’s about half the people in the Rebellion’s story too. I mean, that’s  _ my  _ story. Everything else is your family.” 

“I was an enabler,” Allison muttered. “I stood by idly.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect,” Stiles said. “You know the reason I joined the Rebellion wasn’t because I wanted to help people. It was because Scott was the first person I’d met other than Chewie that called me a friend despite everything I was.” He paused, considering. “And I was hopelessly in love with Lydia and desperate for her to notice me.” Allison laughed at that. “My reasons for staying were completely selfish. But here I am now, fighting to help the galaxy.” He looked at Allison again. “We all made it here in the end. That’s what’s important.” 

“Thanks, Stiles,” Allison said, meeting his eyes again, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. He was about to respond, when something shifted in the trees, and Scott bounded into the clearing, wiping sweat off his brow. Stiles stood up immediately, walking towards Scott. Allison sighed in relief, following behind Stiles. 

“We got them,” Scott informed his friends, but Stiles was distracted, glancing around Scott, looking for his girlfriend. 

“Where's Lydia?” Stiles demanded, trying not to sound too anxious. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself; he knew that. Still, he worried. 

Scott's expression melded into a mix of confusion and shock, his eyebrows raising and his lips parting slightly. “Wait, you mean she's not back?” Scott asked, and Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. 

“I thought she was with  _ you,”  _ Stiles insisted, half glaring at his best friend. 

Scott shook his head. “We got separated. The stormtroopers split up, so we did too.” 

“We have to go find her,” Stiles said, already ready to go, sheathing his blaster in its holster on his hip. Chewie growled in agreement, the others nodding. Scott closed his eyes, and Stiles didn't know what he was doing, but he looked like he was concentrating hard on something. When he opened them again, they were burning bright gold. 

“She's alive,” Scott informed them. “I can feel it. I don't know where she is, but she's okay.” 

“Well, let's get moving before anything happens to her,” Stiles said. He turned to the rest of the Rebellion troops, milling around in the clearing. “Continue on path; we'll meet at the back of the bunker at oh-eight hundred. It's about to be nightfall, so find an area and set up camp. We've got to find Lydia.” He groaned internally, steeling himself for what he had to say next. “Isaac, you’re in charge.” Isaac grinned at Stiles cheekily, giving him a mock salute before turning back to the rest of the troops. They began picking up their gear, as Threepio shuffled forward, Artoo gliding behind him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, audibly groaning. 

“We should probably bring them,” Scott muttered. “Artoo has scanning capabilities way stronger than our handheld devices; we can use them to find her.” 

Stiles relented. “Okay, fine. Come on, Goldenrod.”

“You too, Artoo,” Scott said, and the astromech cruised over to Scott's side like a tamed loth-cat, beeping happily. 

They walked for what seemed like forever along the path that Scott and Lydia had carved through the trees. Artoo pivoted his antennae, trying to pick up any signals of hers. 

“I'm afraid he is not picking up on anything,” Threepio informed them solemnly. Stiles sighed, looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. Where could she  _ be?  _

“Stiles!” Scott called, appearing behind a fallen log. “Look.” He held up a discarded helmet— Lydia's helmet. It was identical to the one she and the rest of the troops wore. (Scott, Stiles, and Allison were supposed to wear them as well, but they'd long ditched them. Stiles wasn't even wearing the custom camo poncho— he'd point-blank refused, settling instead for a camouflaged long coat.) 

Stiles scrambled over the log to where Scott was. “She was definitely here,” Scott told his friend. “I can smell her.” 

Stiles's eyes darted to the treeline, and he saw it— the smoldering wreckage of a crashed speeder bike. Stiles let out a shaky breath. “I hope she's okay.” 

Scott opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by a sudden howl from Chewie— Scott, Stiles, and Allison whipped around to face the Wookiee, who stood a little ways away, almost in a clearing, the droids next to him. 

“What?” Stiles asked, clambering over the log, Scott and Allison behind him, as they made their way to the rest of the group. Chewie howled again, heading into the clearing. 

When Stiles saw what the wookiee was distracted by, he almost gagged. 

It was a dead animal, cut open to reveal the fresh meat inside, propped upright on a long forked branch. Bugs buzzed around it, landing on the carcass— it must have been relatively fresh. 

“Oh, my gods,” Stiles gagged, covering his mouth. “That's disgusting, Chewie; leave it.” The wookiee howled back at Stiles indignantly. Stiles shook his head, taking a step closer. “It's just a dead animal.” 

Chewie snorted at Stiles, reaching out to grab the meat. A feeling of suspicion shot through Stiles's gut, and he called out, “No, Chewie! Don't touch it!” But it was too late. Before they could even process what was happening, they were all dangling twenty feet above the ground, suspended in the air in a huge, roughly woven net. 

Chewie had sprung a  _ booby trap _ on them. 

“Seriously?” Stiles growled, and if his face weren't pressed into the interwoven ropes, he would've thrown his copilot a look capable of stopping a gundark dead. 

Chewbacca growled back, defending himself, and Stiles just groaned again. 

“Stop fighting,” Allison instructed them, jabbing her elbow even farther into Stiles's ribs. Seriously, being strung up from the trees like a hunting prize was bad enough, but being stuck in a net with two other sentients, a wookiee, and two droids? Goldenrod had one of his joints smashed into Stiles' back, and his leg was stuck under Artoo, and he couldn't  _ breathe _ without getting a mouthful of wookiee fur. “We've gotta get out of here before whoever set this trap finds us,” Scott continued, trying to pull his arm out from under the dead animal, which had also gotten caught in the net. 

“Also so we can  _ find Lydia,”  _ Stiles butted in, reminding his friends of the important things here. 

“And so we can find Lydia,” Scott added. “Stiles, can you reach my lightsaber?” 

Scott's side was pushed up against the side of the net, the shiny hilt of his weapon just sticking out of one of the gaps between ropes. 

“Yeah, I think so!” Stiles replied, reaching his arm out of the net and trying to grab Scott's lightsaber. His fingertips brushed the hilt, but it was too far away. 

“Ow, careful!” Allison snapped as Stiles’s elbow connected with her jaw. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to wiggle closer, but he was so focused on trying to get to the weapon that he barely registered Threepio say, “Artoo, I'm not sure that's such a good idea.” 

Stiles reached farther, his arm extended to its absolute maximum, and his fingers almost closed around the smooth metal hilt, and then— they were all lying on the ground. 

Stiles heaved as Threepio landed on top of him, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. Allison and Scott detangled themselves from each other and Chewie howled in disdain. Once Stiles could breathe again, he looked around, bewildered at how they had gotten free from the net. Had the weight been too much and it had just snapped? 

Then his gaze landed on Artoo, who had a saw blade extension out. With a satisfied whistle, he retracted the tool back in. Stiles shook his head. 

“Okay, let's go,” Stiles coughed, still short of breath, but as soon as he began to move, the bushes around them started quivering. 

Stiles reached for his blaster in alarm, his head whipping around, as dozens of little furry creatures poked out of the tall grass and scrub surrounding the clearing. 

They closed in, and Stiles got a better look at them— they literally looked like stuffed toys for kids, with thick fur, big brown eyes, furry paws, standing no more than a meter high— most of them had fabric shawls around their heads, some with beads or feathers or little bones woven into the frayed edges, some with feathery headdresses, almost like crowns, and all of them were holding carved wooden spears, pointing right at Stiles, Scott, Allison, and Chewie. Their faces were scrunched up, some of them growling, but it was all Stiles could do to keep from laughing, because they were  _ so kriffing cute.  _ He seriously felt like he was being threatened by a stuffed toy. Was he supposed to be  _ scared _ of them? 

The little creatures— Lydia definitely knew the name of them, but he could only think “teddy bears”— inched closer, pointing their spears right at Stiles's chest. And sure, they might have been cute, but those spears were still sharp. 

Stiles shoved the closest spear from his face, scowling at the little bear. “Point that somewhere else, okay?” 

This seemed to make them more mad, because they started talking to each other in a strange language that Stiles didn't comprehend at all. He looked at Scott, his friend's face also wary of the little creatures. 

Stiles had had enough of this. He didn't have time to get captured by an army of teddy bears; they had to find Lydia and shut down the shield generator and  _ save the galaxy.  _ He pulled out his blaster— he wouldn't actually shoot them; they seemed fairly harmless, but— if it got them out of here, he had no issue scaring them. 

The little creatures' chatter escalated sharply in volume when Stiles pulled out his weapon, and their spears were shoved closer— there were three in his face, suddenly, and Stiles looked at Scott again, bewildered, because these creatures were persistent. 

“Stiles, put down your blaster,” Scott told him, as he slowly raised his hands to his head. 

“What? Why?” Stiles hissed, still clutching his gun. “We can't get captured by teddy bears, Scott, we have a mission.” 

“I know,” Scott replied. “But there's gotta be a different way. We're outnumbered.” Chewie growled in aggravation, and the creatures pointed spears towards him too. 

It was at that moment that Threepio decided to sit up, moaning and groaning about how that fall would damage his circuits, and how horrible his joints felt. Stiles was ready to snap at him, but at the sight of the gold protocol droid, the little bears gasped, pulling back their spears. 

“Oh, my,” Threepio exclaimed, catching sight of the creatures, his head turning rapidly. “Ewoks!” Stiles's jaw dropped as the creatures fell on their knees, bending over and... praising Threepio? They had started a strange chant, and they kept raising their arms up and down, like they were worshipping— what was going  _ on?  _

Then, Threepio said something in their language, and Stiles's jaw dropped even further. 

“Can you understand what they're saying?” Allison asked eagerly, looking at the droid. 

“Oh, yes!” Threepio exclaimed. “Although, they are using a very strange dialect.” 

“What did you tell them?” Stiles demanded. 

“Hello, I think,” Threepio replied. “It appears that they think I am some sort of god.” 

Stiles almost laughed. 

“What?” Scott asked again, and Threepio repeated what he said, while Scott shook his head. “Seriously?” 

“Well, this is perfect,” Stiles mused. “Threepio, use your  _ divine influence,  _ and get us out of this, okay?” 

“I'm afraid I cannot do that, Captain Solo,” the droid responded solemnly. 

Stiles almost growled at Threepio. “ _ Why not? _ ” 

“It is not in my programming to impersonate a deity,” Threepio responded. “It simply wouldn't be proper.” 

_ “Proper?” _ Stiles hissed, lunging at Threepio. This stupid, useless, melodramatic droid, he couldn't make anything easier, could he— 

Stiles was stopped by about four spears sticking sharply against his chest. Something hit the back of his head, and everything went dark. 

***

When Stiles came to, it took him about three seconds to realize he was upside down. 

Scott and Allison were ahead of him, walking, with their hands tied behind their backs, but they were hanging off the edge of the earth like mynocks or something, and Stiles's head started to hurt. He whipped his head around, quickly realizing that his friends hadn't suddenly acquired gravity-defying powers; instead, Stiles was hanging upside down, his hands and feet tied together and then fastened to a large wooden pole, like some kind of hunting kill. Two ewoks manned each end of the pole, and they seemed to be farther up, closer to the dense leaves of the forest canopy— Stiles twisted his head awkwardly, looking down, and instead of seeing forest floor, saw a wooden rope bridge below them. Chewie growled, his hands also tied, as a couple ewoks tugged him along. Artoo was roped up onto some sort of cart, and he beeped pitifully as the ewoks wheeled him along. 

“Scott?” Stiles half-whispered, and his best friend whipped his head around, a look of relief crossing his face when he saw Stiles was awake. “What the  _ hell _ is going on?” 

“I don't know,” Scott replied, shrugging. “Ask our resident deity.” 

Stiles craned his neck out, and sure enough, at the front of the crowd, there was Threepio, being carried along while sitting in a wooden throne. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Stiles mumbled, as the ewoks brought them across the bridge and into a village. 

It reminded Stiles of Kashyyyk, almost— the whole village was in the trees, constructed of tree houses of all different sizes, rope bridges connecting all the buildings, swinging gently in the breeze. Ewoks swung from from platform to platform on ropey vines, and the shrill call of birds, as well as the low, earthy hum of what sounded like hunting horns echoed through the trees. 

The ewoks marched all of their prisoners into a large treehouse. Dozens of ewoks filled the room, some of them banging drums, some of them chanting, some of them stacking wood on a large fire pit in the middle of the room. They deposited Threepio at the front of the room, placing him on a slightly raised platform that overlooked the rest of the large treehouse.  Scott, Allison, and Chewie were led over to a far corner, then tied to a pole, Artoo dumped right next to them. But Stiles was placed in the middle of the room, the thick branch he was tied to propped between two other sticks, so that his body dangled over the pile of wood the ewoks had gathered in the center of the room. 

“What the hell is  _ happening?”  _ Stiles hissed at Threepio, and the droid shrugged apologetically. 

“I'm rather embarrassed, Captain Solo— it seems you are the main course at a banquet in my honor.” 

“Wha—  _ what?” _ Stiles yelped. “Well tell them to stop! Or you know,  _ not eat me!”  _

Threepio spoke to the room of ewoks in their strange language, hopefully requesting that they not eat Stiles. The room paused briefly, but the ewoks seemed partially unfazed by Threepio's words, because they continued stacking firewood underneath him— Stiles now realized he was tied to a roasting spit.   

“Scott!” Stiles yelped, helpless. “Did you hear what Goldenrod said? They want to eat me!” 

“I have supernatural hearing, Stiles,” Scott reminded his friend. 

A hushed gasp echoed through the room, and Stiles whipped his head around as best he could to see what it was— and his jaw dropped.  _ Lydia _ was here! She had just walked in the room, in different clothes— her military uniform was gone, and she was dressed instead in a soft-looking knee-length dress that appeared to be made of the same material that the ewoks wore as shawls. Her hair was  _ down _ — stars, Stiles never saw her hair down, even to bed she wore it neatly braided back— long, strawberry blonde curls tumbling down her shoulders and to her waist, two braids woven together across the crown of her head like a headband, keeping the curls from her face. 

“Lydia!” Stiles breathed, and he momentarily forgot that he was about to be barbequed, because she was here, and she was safe. 

“Stiles, what are you doing?” she asked, looking between him and the others, confused. 

“They think Threepio is a god and they're going to eat Stiles at a feast in his honor,” Scott quickly supplied. 

Lydia rolled her eyes, muttering “Of course.” An ewok shuffled up behind her, grabbing her hand, and Lydia dropped down on one knee, so she was face to face with the creature. 

“You can't eat them,” she told the ewok. “They're my friends. Can you let them go?” 

The little ewok tilted its head at her curiously, before dropping her hand and scurrying away. Lydia looked to Stiles, worrying her lip, her eyes full of fear. 

“Threepio!” Scott said, his eyes lit up, like he had an idea. “Tell them if they don't let us go, you'll get angry and use your magic.” 

“But what magic, Master Scott?” The droid cried in anguish. “I have no magic!” 

“Just tell them,” Scott insisted. 

Threepio paused, turning to the ewok next to him, who Stiles assumed was the chief— he wore a feathered headdress, and his spear was intricately carved, beads and small bones hanging off leather ties around it. Threepio repeated Scott's message in their language, and the ewoks paused again, only briefly, before continuing their tasks. 

“See, Master Scott, I told you they wouldn't believe me!” Threepio cried in dismay, as a group of ewoks approached Stiles with lit torches. They were going to light the woodpile underneath him and roast him alive. 

“Stop it!” Stiles cried desperately, furiously blowing at the lit torches. “Get away!” 

Miraculously, they did— Stiles was proud of himself for a split second, before he realized that the reason the ewoks in the room were cowering in fear and crying out wasn't because of his desperate cries, but because Threepio was currently floating about a meter off the ground. 

Stiles whipped his head around, and saw Scott, his eyes burning bright gold and his brow furrowed in concentration. Threepio wailed helplessly at the turn of events, but by the time Scott lowered Threepio back to the ground with the Force, ewoks had already slit the ropes binding his wrists and ankles and had helped him off the roasting spit. Scott, Allison, Chewie, and Artoo were cut free as well, and Artoo zapped the ewok closest to his in annoyance. Stiles laughed briefly, before he turned his head and there was a strawberry blonde in his arms. 

He twirled Lydia around without thinking, grabbing her waist and pulling her in tight. Setting her bare feet back on the ground, he leaned down and kissed her, smiling against her mouth. 

“Thank the stars you're okay,” he murmured against her lips. She laughed at him, kissing him sweetly again. 

“Thank the stars  _ I'm _ okay? You almost got eaten, flyboy.” 

“Yeah, well, thanks to our resident god,” Stiles quipped, throwing a smirk at Threepio. It seemed like, for once, Stiles did actually owe the droid his gratitude. 

Granted, it  _ was _ mostly Scott, but still. 

“What are you wearing?” he asked, running one hand up the side of the soft dress, the other hand tangled in her long curls. Lydia shrugged. 

“When I fell off the speeder bike, the knee of my pants ripped open and I was bleeding. They helped me clean it up and gave me new clothes.” 

“You're kidding me, right?” Stiles said. “I almost get roasted for  _ dinner,  _ and you just get a new  _ dress?”  _

Lydia laughed at him, as Scott, Allison, and Chewie walked over to where they stood among the ewoks. “Scott, did you hear this?” Stiles demanded. 

“What, Stiles, you want a new dress too?” Scott asked, trying not to laugh. “I'm sure we can arrange that.” 

Stiles groaned, glaring at his best friend. “You guys are the  _ worst,  _ you know that? Would it  _ kill  _ you to be ever so  _ slightly _ sympathetic in regards to my nearly-fatal situation here?” 

“Yes,” Allison agreed, smiling brightly. Scott laughed, meeting her eyes, and Stiles didn’t miss the blush creeping over his best friend’s cheeks. 

Stiles glanced down at Lydia and the little smirk playing at her lips, his hand trapped between both of hers. He shook his head again, eyes darting between all his friends. 

“I should have just let them eat me.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry there was no chapter last week; I have been really, really busy and didn't have time to edit. That being said, there probably won't be one up next week either because I'll be in Disneyland all day Sunday and packing all day Saturday. I move home in less than two weeks?? I am not ready to leave the warmth of LA. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks for being patient! Y'all are the best :) I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you want to talk!

Stiles had to admit, this night was turning out much more comfortable than he had initially expected, coming into this mission. 

Lydia had reached the rest of the strike team on her commlink, let them know that she was okay, and they would reconvene in the morning before attacking the shield generator. For now, Stiles, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Chewie, and the droids were guests with the ewoks. After they had sorted out the whole roast-Stiles-for-dinner thing, they'd been ushered to a larger treehouse, where they'd eaten a dinner that hadn't featured Stiles as the main course. The ewoks had offered them bunks in one of the treehouses tonight, but for now, they were entertaining what seemed like the whole village with tales of the past four years of their lives— or, Threepio was recounting the tale, with Artoo assisting with scarily accurate sound effects.

Threepio seemed to tell them about Scott and Stiles's daring rescue of Lydia on the Death Star, to the delight of the ewoks in the room. A group of the creatures were accompanying the tales with soothing, tribal-esque music— drums, carved reed instruments, others Stiles didn't recognize. The room was warm and comfortable, with the furry creatures surrounding them on all sides. The five of them were all squished together, seated on a log at the front of the room, but Stiles didn’t mind the close quarters in the slightest. Lydia was tucked into Stiles's side, their hands entwined and her head on his shoulder, her curls tumbling down his back. Scott was next to them, Allison squished between him and Chewie, laughing along at the droids' antics. 

Threepio detailed Derek's battle with Darth Vader, and Artoo chimed in with extremely realistic lightsaber noises. The ewoks hushed in wonder, before gasping as Threepio reached the Battle of Yavin. “Yes, Artoo, I was just getting to that,” the droid said, turning back to his audience. Stiles didn't understand a word that Threepio had been saying— he was mostly picking up the story by names of places and Artoo's sound effects. Threepio began talking again, and Stiles was positive he heard the droid say “Cloud City.” Stiles turned to his friends, confused. 

“Did he just skip from blowing up the Death Star to Bespin?” he asked them, incredulous. Lydia shrugged, before dropping her head back on his shoulder, still playing with his hand in her lap.  

“He did tell me he was bad at storytelling when I got him,” Scott offered. 

“Yeah, but that was like, three years,” Stiles said, shaking his head. 

“Nothing really interesting happened in those three years,” Lydia told him. 

“That’s a load of bantha shit. We went on lots of dangerous missions that were almost too exciting,” Stiles reminded her. She just smirked. “Also, you slowly but surely fell in love with me, princess.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, flyboy,” she retorted, a beautiful smirk pulling at her lips. 

“The only thing that happened in those three years was incessant awkward flirt-fighting between you two,” Scott informed them. Allison snorted, glancing at between Scott and the couple in question. Stiles and Lydia opened their mouths to argue, but Chewie cut them off with a loud whuffing laugh. 

They then realized Threepio had stopped talking, and the volume of the tribal drums had crescendoed considerably. They looked around, confused, as the ewok chief of the tribe said words to the entire congregation. 

“Wonderful!” Threepio exclaimed. Scott shot him a look, letting him know they would very much enjoy knowing what the ewoks had said. “We are now officially a part of the tribe,” the droid informed them. 

The ewoks seemed thrilled at this concept, as they attacked Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Chewie with large furry hugs as they talked in high, excited chatter. Lydia tried to stifle her giggle at the look of shock on Stiles's face as one ewok grabbed his leg and clung to him like their life depended on it. 

Stiles pried the ewok off his leg, standing up and moving over to Threepio. They had to figure out their plan of attack for tomorrow. 

“Oh, Captain Solo, wonderful news,” the droid said in delight at Stiles approached. “The ewoks have told me they know of a secret back entrance to the shield generator. They can show us in the morning.” 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. That actually was good news. “Great,” he told the droid. The chief ewok stood next to Threepio, and twittered in agreement with the droid. “Ask them if we can get our weapons back too.” Threepio turned to the ewok, but Stiles remembered something else, and tapped the droid. Threepio turned around. “We could use fresh supplies too, if they have any.” Threepio started his sentence again, turning back to the chief. Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently. “Hurry up, Goldenrod, we haven't got all day.” 

*** 

Lydia realized, sitting there in the middle of the ewoks' treehouse, she had never realized that a person could physically  _ flail _ so much until she had met Stiles. Growing up in the palace on Alderaan, surrounded by her queen grandmother and senator mother and a dozen other tutors and governesses and people who had been taught to hold themselves with dignity and purpose, she had never seen someone wave their arms as spastically and as frequently as Stiles did. 

She tried not to laugh at the sight of her boyfriend in what seemed to be a heated debate with a  _ protocol _ droid, his arms waving wildly as he argued with Threepio. Lydia was so enamored with his antics that she almost didn't notice Scott rise from his spot next to her and quietly slip out of the treehouse. 

The only reason she looked up at all was because she felt a wave of sadness wash over her— it was Scott's emotion, and it was happening more and more often since the whole thing on Bespin. It was like some blockade had been breached ever since then, and whenever he was close, and his emotions were particularly powerful, she could feel them. She knew Scott could smell emotions, but this was different— she didn't smell them, she  _ felt _ them, reverberating through her bones and echoing in her chest. And right now, she could tell— Scott was conflicted, and so, so sad. 

Lydia stood from her spot, casting a quick glance at Allison next to her before following Scott out onto the rope bridge outside the treehouse. He stood with his back to her, his arms loosely crossed on the rail of the bridge, looking out onto the kilometers of forest that stretched in every direction. He had long shed his camouflaged poncho, and now he wore only his Jedi ensemble— sleek and black, with his new lightsaber hanging at his waist. 

“Scott?” Lydia said tentatively, ready to turn and go back inside if he wanted to be alone. He turned to face her, though, and his shoulders sagged in relief. Lydia felt a wave of his calm wash over her, and he smiled gratefully at her, part of the worry draining from his face. 

“Lydia,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips, and she took that as an invitation, walking over to him and leaning against the banister, their shoulders brushing. 

“You okay?” Lydia asked, looking up at him. His smile had faded, and his eyes looked tired and defeated. 

“Yeah,” he responded quietly. He turned to look at her, and Lydia gave him a little smile, placing her hand on his arm in comfort.  

“Scott, what’s wrong?” she asked, and the look in his eyes was indistinguishable. 

“Do you remember your mother at all?” he asked, and Lydia frowned in confusion. What had brought that on? “I mean, your birth mother,” he clarified. “Not your real mother.” 

Lydia furrowed her brow in concentration, thinking back. She had never met her biological mother, and Natalie had never said much about her either, insisting that Lydia was an orphan of the Clone Wars, saying she didn’t know her real parents. 

“I never met her,” Lydia told Scott truthfully. “I… my adoptive mother, she always told me I was a war orphan. That she didn’t really know where I came from.” She paused, glancing at Scott.    
“Why?” 

He just shook his head, his expression conveying his mind was still preoccupied. “I don’t remember my birth mother either,” he told her. “I was just wondering.” 

Lydia looked at him, a little alarmed by how strange he was acting. “Scott, are you okay?” she asked again, hoping this time he would be honest with her. 

“Not really,” he answered after a beat, eyes still on the trees below.  “Vader is here,” he said, pausing, his voice quiet. “I can tell.” Lydia’s head whipped towards him, panic evident on her face. 

“What?” she whispered, her breath short. Scott nodded. 

“On this moon. I can sense her presence, through the Force.” Lydia had never understood how that worked, exactly, but if Scott said he could, she wasn’t going to argue. She trusted him and his powers. But something Scott said caught her attention. 

“Wait,  _ her?  _ Vader’s a  _ woman?” _ she asked. Scott just nodded his head. Lydia fell silent, giving herself a minute to process that information. She supposed it wasn’t the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard— it was actually pretty probable, if she really thought about it. Vader’s voice was clearly mechanically altered, and that suit  _ was  _ fairly gender-neutral. 

“I have to go to her,” Scott said, his voice low. “If I can sense her she can sense me. I’m endangering the mission. And I’ve got to face her.” 

Lydia gave him a look, narrowing her eyes at him. He seemed unfazed, staring right back, his eyes heavy and sad. “Why in the nine Corellian  _ hells _ do you have to  _ face _ her?” she demanded. 

Scott sighed. “I— Lydia,” he said, pausing, and his eyes were apprehensive now, fear laced through his pursed lips, like he was scared of what he had to say next. 

“What, Scott?” she urged gently. 

Scott exhaled, looking away. “Because she’s my mother.” 

Lydia’s face blanched. 

Her immediate, gut instinct was to recoil, draw away from him, before reminding herself that that was ridiculous, because this was  _ Scott. _ Scott, who was too good and too pure to ever hurt her. Scott, who believed in the good of everyone and the good of the galaxy. He couldn’t be  _ less _ like Darth Vader. 

“How?” Lydia said, her voice hushed. “How is that even possible?” She paused, thinking back to conversations about birth parents she and Scott had had in the past. “I know you said your dad was a Jedi Wolf. That Derek knew him. But your mom?” 

_ “Derek _ is my dad,” Scott said, and Lydia’s stomach dropped again. “He knew my mother when she was a Jedi as well. Back when she was Jennifer Blake. But she turned to the dark side and became Vader, Derek said.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you have to  _ face _ her,” she insisted. 

Scott sighed. “You know how I can smell emotions?” he asked. Lydia nodded. “When I fought her, on Bespin— I could smell the conflict on her. And her presence, in the Force— it’s not completely dark. She used to be a good person. And that’s still underneath.” 

“You don’t know that,” Lydia said darkly. She loved Scott, loved his unwavering optimism, his determination to see the best in everyone, give everyone a second chance— but the thought of him believing Vader could still be good made her want to throw up. 

“I have to try,” Scott insisted. “I can save her. Bring her back to the light side.”

“Scott,” she said, her voice shaking, “She’s not worth saving.” 

“I  _ have _ to, Lydia,” he insisted. “She’s my mother.” 

“No,” Lydia pleaded. “Scott, don’t. We— the Rebellion needs you. You’re the  _ last _ Jedi. You’re our last hope.” 

Scott shook his head, the look in his eyes indescribable. “I’m not,” he said, and Lydia’s brain clouded with confusion again. “I talked to Derek,” he said. “And Talia. About your feelings. Your visions.”

“You did?” she breathed. Did they know what she was? Did they know how she could control this, grasp some sense of herself again? She thought of the strange nightmares she’d been having, that she’d meant to tell Scott about. Why did she get those visions, have these powers? Was there something wrong with her? Was she some sort of mutant werewolf, or— she didn’t even know. She just wanted to know what she was. Ever since she had found Scott underneath Cloud City, opened herself up to these feelings and visions— she felt like she knew herself even less now. The possibility that someone might actually know what she was sent her heart into overdrive, suddenly overcome with hope. 

“Derek said that there aren’t even solidified facts about what you are. Just myths. You’re something really, really rare. But you have more power than me, Lydia. I’m not the last hope.  _ You _ are.” 

Lydia froze, stunned. How was that even possible? Scott could move things with his  _ mind,  _ could wield a lightsaber, could grow fangs and claws. She couldn’t do any of that. She could barely  _ control _ her powers— she barely even knew what they  _ were.  _ How could she possibly be more powerful than Scott? 

“If I don’t come back—” Scott started, but Lydia shook her head vehemently, giving him a fiery glare. 

“Scott Skywalker, you better be coming back,” she demanded. “Don’t even think of sacrificing yourself as some— some  _ martyr _ — for Vader. She is  _ not _ worth it.” 

Scott ignored her comment, looking at her with that indescribable look again. “If I don’t come back,” he said, “I— there’s something else I have to tell you. And I know it sounds impossible, and that it’s hard to believe—  _ I _ still can’t believe it—” 

“What, Scott?” She practically demanded, her heart beating in uneasy anticipation. 

“You’re— not a war orphan,” Scott started, and Lydia raised both of her perfect eyebrows at him in disbelief. “I mean, you are,” he backtracked, “but not just some random war orphan. You were given to your mom by Derek, to keep you safe from the Emperor.” 

Lydia was just plain confused now. “Scott, I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” she told him. 

“I’m trying to say that the same thing happened to me,” he said slowly, his gaze intense. “Because, Lydia— you’re my sister. We’re twins.” 

She would have laughed, at the absurdity of that statement— she and Scott, twins? They looked absolutely nothing alike, and despite being the same age— and both having mystical powers, she guessed— what basis did she have to believe they were long lost siblings? But as soon as all those doubts entered her mind, she felt something stir in her brain, twist in her gut, and she knew, somehow, that he was telling the truth. Her powers washed over her in a wave, pulling at her heart, and she knew his words were fact, however impossible it seemed. Somehow, she thought, subconsciously, she’d always known. 

“What—? How do you know that? _ ”  _ Lydia stuttered. Scott shrugged. 

“Derek told me that he split us up to keep us hidden from the Emperor, because we’re both so powerful. I guess young werewolves that grow up together form pack bonds, and they’re easier to sense for other wolves. So they had to keep us separate, to keep us safe.” 

“This is crazy,” Lydia told him, and he nodded in agreement. “But somehow, I know it’s true.” 

“I just—” Scott hesitated. “You have to know how important you are. How powerful. In case something happens to me.” 

“Scott,” she whispered, but she knew there was no changing his mind— his eyes were fiercely determined, and he was going to go whether she allowed him to or not. So instead, she pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight and pressing her forehead into his shoulder. It felt surreal, but warm and comforting. Her  _ brother.  _

“Be  _ careful,” _ she told him, pulling away, and he nodded. 

“I will be,” he assured her, before turning away, heading down the rope bridge and out of the ewoks’ village. 

Once Scott wasn’t visible anymore—  _ that’s _ when it hit her. 

It was like a tidal wave crashing over her, the realization— if Scott was her brother, and Darth Vader was  _ his _ mother— 

The person who had tortured her, slaughtered thousands, tens of thousands,  _ millions _ of innocents, blown up her planet, enforced the Emperor’s reign of darkness with pain and fear— that… that  _ monster _ was her mother. Lydia could taste bile in her throat, and her knuckles were white on the railing as she clutched to it, throwing up over the side of the bridge, heaving until her stomach was empty and her body was shaking and frail. A tear leaked out of her eye, tracing down her cheek, and she hadn’t known it was possible to feel this horrible, this dirty, this  _ corrupted. _ The blood that ran in her veins was Vader’s; she was tainted, sullied— her life had stemmed from that monster, and just the thought of that— being connected to  _ that—  _ she heaved over the railing again, even though there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up. 

Of course, that was when Stiles came outside to check on her. 

_ “Lydia?”  _ he said, his voice laced with panic, and then his hands were on her, smoothing her back, twisting her hair away from her face— it reminded her of when he had woken up with her on the trip to Bespin, soothed her after her nightmares— now her  _ life _ was a nightmare, a horror story come true, haunting her, because Darth Vader was her  _ mother.  _

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, voice panicky, and Lydia slowly nodded, unable to meet his eyes. Gods, Vader had tortured Stiles too; Vader was the reason he had lost a year of his life, frozen in carbonite. 

“That was rhetorical,” Stiles said. “You’re obviously not fine. What happened?” 

She didn’t say anything, just shook her head, staring down through the leafy canopy below them. The realization was still washing over her, and already she hated herself— what would Stiles think if he knew who she really was? Where her power really came from? What if— stars forbid— what if she  _ did _ learn how to control her powers, and she turned out just like Vader? 

“Lydia,” Stiles murmured, smoothing her hair back. “You’re scaring me.” 

“Scott,” she finally whispered, hesitantly looking up to meet Stiles’s eyes. There was so much care, so much love in them. Her heart ached, because he just— he loved her  _ so  _ much, and all she could feel right now was hatred towards herself. Hatred and disgust of where she had come from. 

“Scott left,” she finished, and Stiles’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Why? Where’d he go?” 

“To fight Vader,” she whispered, glancing down. “Or not to fight her, I guess; he’s convinced he can turn her back to the light side, or something.” 

“Good luck with that,” Stiles quipped automatically. “Vader blew up a planet on a whim. That doesn’t exactly seem like something you can redeem yourself from.” 

Lydia remained silent, her heart pounding at Stiles’s words. “Is that why you’re so upset?” Stiles asked gently. “Because Scott can hold his own. He’ll be okay.” 

“No, it’s—” she shook her head, the taste of bile in her mouth still too strong. She couldn’t do it. “I can’t tell you,” she admitted. 

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, annoyed. “What? Why not?” 

“I just—” she said, unsure what to say. Saying it out loud would make it true? And she wasn’t ready to deal with that reality? 

“Lydia,” Stiles said, frustrated. “What is going  _ on?”  _

“I can’t say it out loud!” she snapped, throwing him a fiery glare. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, and she didn’t want to cry— she  _ hated _ crying; it made her feel weak and small, brought her back to the time she’d spent sobbing in a small metal cell, her planet obliterated, a bloody hole in her skull—

“Okay? I— if I have to say it, Stiles, I’ll physically be sick again,” she pleaded. 

Stiles’s eyes immediately softened, the momentary annoyance replaced with concern. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “I’m sorry, Lydia, I didn’t mean— I didn’t realize—” he smoothed his hands through her hair again, before pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her, one hand on the back of her head, cradling it into his chest. “You don’t have to say anything. Okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” 

“I want to,” she whispered into his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. “But I can’t. I can’t make myself say it, Stiles.” 

“It’s okay,” he told her again. “Don’t worry.” He paused, before continuing— “The ewoks are lending us a treehouse,” he told her. “And in the morning they’re going to show us to the shield generator’s back entrance. They know a back way, where we won’t get caught by patrols.” 

“Okay,” she said, nodding, his arms still around her. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he suggested, letting her go, and she nodded again. Sleep. That’s what she needed. Maybe in the morning, in the light of a new day, she would be able to process this horrifying realization better. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry that this chapter is both on the shorter side and a day late-- I moved home to Boston from California this weekend, so I've been pretty busy with that. I have this week off before my summer semester starts, though, so I'm gonna try to get another chapter up this week! We'll see. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!

Endor was peaceful in a way that Allison wasn’t particularly used to. 

The air was cool and fresh here, the soothing whistle of the breeze periodically interrupted by bird calls. Standing out here, on the landing of one of the many rope bridges connecting this tiny village in the sky, she could hear every creature moving below, every leaf rustling in the canopy. Being so intimately close to nature wasn't something she was used to; Cloud City was beautiful, but suspended hundreds of meters in the air, and there was little nature other than the clouds. And Mandalore— Mandalore had been razed and ruined since before she was born, entire parts of the planet destroyed, the remaining places war-torn. The nighttime sounds of Endor should have been more of a cacophony to ears unadjusted to hearing so much nature, but Allison found it peaceful. Soothing. It was comforting to know that even on this planet, held hostage by stormtroopers, there were some places the Empire couldn’t touch. 

Stiles’s words from earlier were trapped in her head still.  _ We all made it here in the end. That’s what’s important.  _ While his statement did put her mind at ease a little bit, she couldn’t help the lingering feelings of guilt. Thoughts of weapons she’d helped create, TIE fighters she had piloted against rebel forces when she’d been sixteen and the top of her academy class, people she had hurt— those thoughts were never going to go away, she thought. But she was making a difference now. Trying to repent for her actions. It was a slow process, sand she was starting to accept that she’d never be able to fully shed the guilt. But here, with the Rebellion, fighting for the freedom of a galaxy she believed could be better— this was how she could make her actions right. Not by following her family’s code, but by forging her own. Living by those words instead.

_ We protect those who cannot protect themselves. _

Something rustled behind her, and Allison jumped, turning around, her hand already on her hip, resting over her blaster. She relaxed when she was who it was, dropping her hand and exhaling, regarding Scott with relief. 

“You scared me,” she told him, raising an eyebrow. He seemed to catch her joke, because he grinned briefly, taking another step closer. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, tentatively leaning up against the railing next to her, their shoulders almost brushing. He looked out over the Ewok village, eyes trained on the trees before them, but Allison couldn’t stop looking at  _ him.  _ There was something in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint— but his expression was grim, defeated, his eyes lacking their usual light. 

“You okay?” Allison asked softly, gaze still fixed on him. He turned his head, regarding her, his eyes meeting hers, and Allison swallowed at the jolt of emotion she felt. 

“I guess,” Scott said, looking down again. “Actually, not really.” 

Allison remained quiet, allowing him to keep going if he wanted to. Scott sighed dejectedly, still not meeting her eyes when he said, “I have to go face Vader.” 

Allison froze for a second, confounded by his declaration. “You have to  _ what?”  _ she asked, giving him a look. 

Scott kept his eyes trained on the treeline. “I have to face her. She can sense I’m here; that’s why  _ she’s  _ here.” He turned to look at Allison then, his brown eyes so sad, so lost. “And… I just found out… she’s my mother.” He paused, and Allison’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the silence. Vader was his  _ mother?  _ How was that even  _ possible?  _

“I can’t let her endanger the mission here,” Scott insisted. “I can’t be responsible for her hurting more people.” 

“Scott,” Allison said, voice quiet but insistent, because she may not have understood the Jedi, but familial guilt—  _ that _ she knew. 

“You know her actions aren’t your actions, right?” Allison asked. “You’re not responsible for what she’s done.” Scott just looked at her, and on impulse, Allison reached out, taking his hand in hers, squeezing it. Scott looked down at their linked hands, eyes a little wide, before he met her gaze again. 

“Ever since I left Mandalore, escaped to Bespin, I’ve been trying to forget about what my family has done. About what  _ I’ve  _ done. Because I felt responsible for all of their actions, plus mine. My parents are weapons dealers for the Empire. My grandfather was in charge of building the first Death Star. My aunt was a psychotic bounty hunter. Half my other aunts and uncles are assassins, or generals, or Grand Moffs.” She paused, and Scott’s expression softened. “It took me a while to come to terms with that. I’m  _ still  _ coming to terms with it. That was what my  _ family  _ did, but it’s not what I’m doing. Just because Vader’s your mom, that doesn’t make you responsible for what she’s done.” 

“Thanks,” Scott said, squeezing Allison’s hand; he looked down at their entwined fingers again, stepping ever-so-slightly closer to her. “And you’re right. Allison, what your family’s done— that’s not on you. You’re here now, fighting for what’s right. That’s what’s important.” 

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” she said, almost laughing, her lips curling up in a small smile. The light from the treehouse shined onto them, bathing the platform in a warm glow. Allison met Scott’s eyes again, and in the golden light, his gaze was enough to send her heart into overdrive. Remembering that he could probably  _ hear  _ her hammering heartbeat, she tried to slow it down, but Scott stepped closer to her, his eyes so warm, expression so soft. 

“Good luck with the bunker tomorrow,” he said, running his thumb over the back of her hand, still in his. “Be safe, okay?” 

“Of course,” Allison agreed, nodding. “I can take care of myself.” 

“I know,” Scott assured her, grinning. “Just— I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“You be careful too,” Allison insisted. “You better not die up there,” she joked. 

Scott laughed. “You sound  _ exactly  _ like Lydia.” 

Allison smiled, her heartbeat still a little too fast, the foot of space between her and Scott suddenly seeming much too wide. Ste stepped forward a little, eyes still locked on his, and her breath caught at the soft, open look he was giving her. She bit her lip, wondering if he could sense how she was feeling right now. If he could hear her heart practically beating out of her chest. If he could sense her thinking,  _ If you wanted to kiss me right now, I’d let you.  _

He seemed to get the message, because before Allison could really process what was happening, Scott had leaned down and captured her lips with his. 

Allison responded automatically, her hands running up his chest, resting on her shoulders, sighing into Scott’s mouth. His lips were warm against hers, his kiss gentle and hesitant and overwhelmingly sweet. When they pulled away a minute later, foreheads still resting against each other, Scott’s hands heavy and solid on her waist, Allison was pretty sure she could hear  _ Scott’s  _ heart beating. 

“Sorry,” Scott said, though Allison wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Allison asked, barely able to contain her smile. Scott grinned, his nose bumping against hers. 

“I don’t know,” he said, as she wove her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. “You make me nervous.  _ Really  _ nervous.” 

Allison couldn’t help laughing at that. “You’re about to go battle  _ Darth Vader  _ and  _ I  _ make you nervous?” 

Scott’s smile grew a little smaller as the weight of the situation resettled around them— they were on a strange planet in the middle of a war, preparing for battle tomorrow. And Scott was going off to battle one of the most powerful leaders of the Empire. 

“I have to go,” Scott said, voice quiet, as if he was just remembering. He pulled back from Allison a little, though his hands stayed anchored on her waist. 

“Good luck,” Allison said, caught up in his eyes. “Be careful.” 

“You too,” Scott told her, looking at her with such sincerity that it made her heart speed up again. He gave her one last grin, small and genuine, before turning, heading off into the night. 

Allison watched his retreating back, hoping they would all survive tomorrow, if only so she could see him again. 

***

The forest was eerily quiet near the Imperial base— even the non-sentient creatures seemed to know to avoid here. The only sound Scott could hear was the crunching of leaves underfoot as the stormtroopers that had grabbed him on patrol steered him towards the base. No birds, no ewoks, no  _ anything.  _

Scott vaguely wondered if this was a bad idea— maybe Lydia was right; maybe Vader  _ couldn’t _ be saved— before remembering his promise to himself. He was going to try. If there was any hope of him getting his mother back— he wasn’t going to throw it away. 

The stormtroopers jostled him through the complex, hitting the controls to one of the buildings and shoving him inside. His hands were restrained in binders, and they’d taken away his lightsaber— Scott knew that Talia said that the Force was always with him, that he was never truly defenseless, but right now— he couldn’t help the tiny bit of fear running through him. 

Because standing right in front of him, tall and menacing, was Darth Vader. 

_ Your mother,  _ Scott’s brain snapped,  _ who still has good in her. Who you have to try to save, for you and for the galaxy.  _ Still, there was a part of Scott that recoiled at the figure standing in front of him, the woman who had tortured his friends and cut off his hand. He could sense the light inside his mother— but there was a lot of darkness keeping it buried. 

“We found this rebel in the woods,” the stormtroopers informed Vader. “He turned himself over to us. He claims he was alone, but I doubt he is. We’ll send patrols out to find the rest.” 

Vader waved her hand noncommittally. “Don’t bother,” she told the troopers. “It’s not worth it.” 

The stormtrooper nodded, before the other one procured Scott’s lightsaber, holding it out to Vader. Vader took the weapon in her gloved hand, examining it. 

“We found this on him,” the trooper said, and Vader looked up from the weapon. 

“You can go,” she told the troopers. “But take the binders off of him. He doesn’t need them.”

The stormtroopers hesitantly obeyed, and Scott rubbed his sore wrists, now free of the restraints, as they left. 

“The emperor has been expecting you,” Vader said, her mechanical voice low. Scott looked at her— dark mask, long cape, electric controls blinking on the front panel of her suit— it was hard to believe there was a  _ person _ under there, let alone someone who had been his mother once. 

“I’m not here to see the Emperor,” Scott replied, his eyes lingering on the blank mask of the woman in front of him. Vader’s tone gave away no emotion, but Scott could still smell the conflict on her, sense the light lurking deep underneath. “I’m here to see you.” He paused. “Mom,” he added as an afterthought. If he could remind her of who she once was, it might be easier to bring her back to the light. 

Vader tilted her head ever so slightly to the side. “You seem much more accepting of that than the last time we met,” she suggested. Scott’s line of sight didn’t waver from Vader’s for a second. 

“I guess I am,” he told Vader. “But not of you. I know who you used to be. Jennifer Blake. I’ll accept that she’s my mom.” 

“Don’t say that name,” Vader hissed, and Scott was taken aback at the raw emotion in her voice, the sudden, overwhelming scent of anger, fear, and shame. “That woman died twenty three years ago.” 

“I talked to Derek,” Scott continued, trying to keep his tone conversational.  _ Control your emotions, Scott, so that your enemies cannot sense them,  _ Talia’s voice rang in his head. Vader’s head turned sharply towards Scott again. “He spoke to me, through the Force,” Scott told her. “He told me exactly what happened to you.” Vader was silent, but Scott’s voice escalated in volume. “How badly you wanted to protect us. How much you loved him.” 

“Stop,” Vader hissed, her voice quiet and oddly strangled. “Don’t.” 

“He believes there’s still good in you,” Scott said, boldly taking a step closer to Vader. “And I do too.” He paused, and Vader remained silent. The conflict rolling off of her was the strongest scent he’d ever smelled— more tangible than the earthy swamps of Dagobah or the rank cells in Jackson’s palace. “I can smell the conflict in you,” Scott told her. “And I know what the Jedi used to stand for. Derek told me. You can still turn back. Help save the galaxy, like you were supposed to.” He paused again, staring up at his mother, unblinking. “You can still be good.” 

There was a long, silent pause, before Vader spoke again, her voice quiet and strangled. “There is more bad than good in me,” she whispered, her mechanical voice hoarse. “And you cannot turn me back.” She pressed a button on the wall, and a door slid open, two stormtroopers immediately appearing, hurrying over and grabbing Scott. “Take him onto the Death Star,” Vader ordered, her tone once again smooth and robotic, void of feeling. “Put him in a cell. The Emperor will want to see him tomorrow.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, okay. I am SO sorry for the delay on this one. This chapter got expanded, and when I say that I am literally incapable of trimming down my writing-- I mean it. I think this chapter is about 9k. It started out at, like, maybe 2, so that's why the wait has been so long. I'm going to put up another chapter this week, though, to make up for it, and then updates should be back to once or twice a week again. Sorry again!! 
> 
> So, I took the machete viewing order of Star Wars (New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Attack of the Clones, Revenge of the Sith, Return of the Jedi) EXTREMELY seriously in this chapter. Hopefully this answers a lot of questions you may or may not have had! 
> 
> Anyways, thank you again for reading! As always, I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter and comments literally make my day. Enjoy!!

When Lydia opened her eyes, she was on Coruscant.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, because the last thing she could remember was being on Endor, curled up with Stiles in a too-small bed. She hadn’t been on Coruscant in  _ years.  _ But the shining lights of passing traffic outside the windows was unmistakable, the familiar cityscape of never ending buildings stretching out beyond the wide glass panes. 

The floor was cool underneath her feet, and she looked down, surprised to see she was barefoot. She didn’t recognize the building she was in— all smooth stone, towering columns, beautiful yet simple architecture. She was in a hallway, it looked like, and there were some people milling about, all wearing long, earthy colored robes, the hushed sounds of their conversations barely a hum in the background. 

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” 

That voice cut through the hushed chatter of the others in the hall, and Lydia turned, searching for its source. Directly in front of her stood two people, and judging from the expression of the boy, she guessed it was him that had spoken. He looked about eighteen or nineteen, with dark hair and clear, shining eyes that looked ever so vaguely familiar. His arms were crossed, almost defensively, and his lips were tugged into a frown as he regarded the older woman standing next to him. 

“What do you think I mean?” the woman responded, arching a brow at him, her long, almost auburn hair swishing.

“Master Laura,” the boy said again, and the woman’s expression sobered. 

“There’s unrest in the Force, Derek,” Laura said, voice hushed now, and Lydia startled.  _ Derek.  _ That fleeting sense of familiarity made sense now, because the boy in front of her— she glanced between him and the window next to her, and sure enough, the Coruscant skyline was almost the same, but there were some key differences— large buildings she had known from her time on the planet were missing, not yet built. She was in the past, somehow, in what must have once been the Jedi temple, before it was destroyed and burned down by the Empire, and this boy— this boy was a young Derek Kenobi. 

“Something’s not right,” Laura continued. “Talia can sense it too— a sort of darkness, obscuring some things from our sight.” 

“Do you think it could be the Sith lord?” Derek said, his words practically a whisper. “The one Master Talia was looking for?” 

“I don’t know,” Laura returned. “Maybe.  _ Probably.  _ We still don’t know who this Sith is, or where they are.” She paused, looking at her padawan. “That’s why I have to go. I’m hoping to find answers on Kamino.” 

“But what about our current mission?” Derek asked. “I mean… if you have to go to Kamino, who’s going to protect the senator?” 

“You are,” Laura said, and Derek froze, his eyes wide. 

_ “Me?”  _ he questioned, voice laced with shock. “But Master Laura, I’ve— I’ve never led a mission before. You want me to protect her? By myself?” 

“Derek,” Laura said, and her tone was what Lydia could only describe as affectionately exasperated. “You’re a fantastic student. One of the top in your class. You’ve been ready for something like this for a  _ long  _ time. And honestly, I think you can handle much more than just playing bodyguard for a senator who is  _ more  _ than capable of protecting herself, as she has frequently proved.” Laura paused, glancing down at him again. “And you won’t be alone. You know Master Kali’s padawan, right?” 

“Uh, sort of,” Derek said, expression apprehensive. “Why?” 

Laura nodded at a figure approaching, and Lydia could see it was a girl, probably about Derek’s age. She wore robes the same as Derek’s, maybe a shade or two darker, her glossy curls falling loosely down her back, her expression sweet and a little apprehensive— though Lydia could see in her eyes a subtle spark of defiance, like this girl was hardly afraid of anything. 

The girl came to a stop in front of them, and Laura looked down, surveying her padawan. “Derek,” Laura said, her voice a little louder now, no longer contained to quiet whispers. “This is Jennifer Blake. She’s going to be joining you in protecting the senator from the Separatists’ assassination attempts.” 

Lydia’s entire body froze up, her eyes locked on the girl in front of her, heart pounding in her chest.  _ Jennifer Blake.  _ This girl— this girl was the person that would someday become Vader, would someday slaughter innocents and terrorize the galaxy and rip everything Lydia loved away from her. 

This girl was her  _ mother.  _

Derek froze, eyes going a little wide as they met the girl’s gaze. “Hi,” she said, smiling slightly at him, a similar look in her eyes. Lydia watched as Derek returned the smile, a little hesitant, before she blinked, and the Jedi temple melted away. 

Lydia’s sight returned as quickly as it had disappeared, and she could see that now she was on the platform for transportation shuttles, the station crowded with travellers. In front of her was Laura and another Jedi, with long, dark hair, Derek and Jennifer next to them, the two of them in traveler’s clothing, not Jedi robes. But Lydia’s jaw almost dropped when she saw who was between them— it was  _ Braeden.  _

She looked younger— she was probably Derek’s age— but less tired and pained, like the world hadn’t completely beat her down yet. But most noticeably, there were no scars on her neck, the skin from her collarbone to her jaw even and smooth. 

“Senator,” Laura said, and Braeden turned, regarding the Jedi. “Derek, Jennifer. You should get on board; the shuttle will be leaving for Naboo soon. Braeden,” Laura continued. “I assure you that you are in good hands. Our padawans will help protect you.” 

“I have no doubt of that,” Braeden agreed. “We’ll be fine. Thank you again for everything, Laura.” 

Laura nodded as Derek, Braeden, and Jennifer headed for the shuttle, Lydia following behind them silently. “I’m sorry about this, Senator,” Derek said, once their masters were out of earshot. “We know you’re capable of protecting yourself.” Braeden shrugged, as if this were only a slight inconvenience. 

“It’s not your fault, Derek,” she said, giving him a look. “And I’m damn well not going to let some Separatist  _ bounty hunter  _ get in the way of convincing the senate we don’t need an army.” She turned to face Jennifer and Derek, both their expressions a little taken aback. “So you two are going to find my wannabe killer, and I’m going to stop the galaxy from breaking out into civil war. Sound good?” 

“Um,” Jennifer stuttered, but Braeden was already turning, walking towards the other end of the ship. Jennifer turned to face Derek, raising an eyebrow. “Is she always like this?” 

Derek shrugged, meeting the other Jedi’s eye. “Yeah, pretty much.” 

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” Jennifer amended. “Tracking down a bounty hunter is  _ way  _ more exciting than playing bodyguard.” 

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, but Lydia could hear the hesitation in his voice. “It’s not what we’re supposed to be doing, though.” 

Jennifer flashed him a grin, her eyes shining. “Come on, Derek. We’re finally getting a  _ real  _ mission, without our masters, without the Pack watching over us. We don’t have to follow the rules.” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him, and Derek made a face in exchange, his expression exasperated, but his mouth tugging up into a grin. “Some rules are made to be broken, anyways.” 

“Yeah, if you want to get yourself thrown out of the Pack,” he replied. He shook his head goodnaturedly— it was clear to Lydia that he was  _ much  _ more comfortable with Jennifer now than that meeting in the hallway before. “Come on. Braeden’s probably already at our seats by now.” 

The scene faded away again, melting into what Lydia immediately recognized as the royal palace in Theed. She’d visited the capital of Naboo a few times in her life, but she’d always loved the beautiful planet, exploring the palace or roaming the city or even relaxing in the meadows, up in the lake country, when her mother and she had come for a holiday once,  _ years  _ and years ago. 

“I don’t know,” she heard, and Lydia turned, Derek and Jennifer coming into view, the two padawans leaning up against the railing of the palace’s terrace. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Why?” Jennifer asked, and Lydia didn’t miss how closely together they were standing, their shoulders practically brushing. 

“I feel like we should be doing more to protect the senator,” Derek admitted, and Jennifer sighed, bumping her shoulder against Derek’s. 

“We  _ are  _ protecting her,” Jennifer said. “We’re trying to find her assassin. And she’s perfectly safe; she’s in her own home, and there haven’t been  _ any  _ attempts on her life since we got here.” 

“I still don’t understand why the Separatists would want her dead,” Derek said, sighing. “This sounds awful, but— is she really that important?” 

“She’s tough, and she’s not scared of anything, and people listen to her,” Jennifer said. “And she’s on the verge of ruining the Separatists’ plans to secede.” She paused, shaking her head, almost in disbelief. “I don’t know why we don’t just let them leave. There would be way less trouble if they were gone.” 

“If they left we’d have two different governing bodies in the same galaxy,” Derek said, turning his head to look at her. “We’ve never had that before. The galaxy has always worked together,  _ decided  _ together, what’s best for people everywhere.” 

“Just because it’s what’s always been done doesn’t mean it’s what  _ should  _ be done, Der,” Jennifer said, raising an eyebrow. Lydia saw Derek swallow, his cheeks tinged  _ ever  _ so slightly pink at the nickname Jennifer had used. “I mean, look at the Pack.”

“What about it?” he asked, his voice still a little breathless. 

“Who decided that we can’t form connections? That having emotions makes us  _ weaker?”  _ She shook her head, eyes fixed on the rolling gardens of the courtyard before them. “It’s really messed up, when you think about it. We’re taken from our families as practical infants, raised with other werewolves our age to strengthen the Pack as a whole, but… we aren’t allowed to  _ care  _ about anyone? We can’t form attachment to  _ anything?”  _

“We’re supposed to be selfless,” Derek said, and Jennifer turned back to him, looking up to meet his eyes. Lydia saw Derek swallow, his nose inches from Jennifer’s, eyes locked on hers. “We’re supposed to protect everyone else in the galaxy.

“Who says I can’t protect the galaxy  _ and  _ have people I care about?” Jennifer whispered, and Derek’s eyes grew wider as she drew closer, locked on hers, before they drifted closed; Jennifer tilted her head up slowly, like every move was painfully deliberate, before her lips brushed against his. 

Derek responded, kissing her back gently— it was the softest of kisses, slow, hesitant, because they  _ knew  _ exactly how forbidden their actions were. Derek pulled away slowly, his eyes drifting open, locked on Jennifer’s. 

“Jen,” he said, voice barely a whisper, his forehead pressed against hers. “We— we  _ shouldn’t.”  _

“I know,” she breathed, hand trailing up, resting on his chest. “But I  _ want  _ to.” She glanced up, meeting Derek’s eyes through her lashes. “What do  _ you  _ want?” 

Derek paused, his eyes searching hers, before he shook his head with disregard, leaning down to kiss her again. 

The scene faded, and Lydia found herself this time in a hallway, the lights dim, the sky outside the arched palace windows inky blue, scattered with stars. Derek and Jennifer sat together against the wall, their shoulders brushing and their fingers interlaced. 

“We can’t leave,” Derek insisted, playing with Jennifer’s hand. “Laura and  Kali were clear about that. We’re not even supposed to be  _ looking  _ for this bounty hunter.” 

“But we’re supposed to protect Braeden,” Jennifer countered. “And won’t that be easier if her would-be assassin is  _ dead?”  _

“I don’t think it’s just this bounty hunter, Jennifer,” he insisted. “There has to be more behind it.” He sighed. “I know Braeden is one of the main things holding back the secession of the Separatists, but they’re still a political body. Would they really try to assassinate a senator of some mid-rim world?” He shook his head, turning to look at her. “It seems like there must be more to it.” 

“You have way too much faith in people, Der,” Jennifer said, arching an eyebrow at him fondly. “People do  _ not  _ always have as good of intentions as you’d like to believe. The Separatists would definitely assassinate a senator, if she was the only thing standing in their way.” 

“I know that,” Derek countered, shaking his head. “I just— if Braeden is gone, then the senate will probably forget about everything she’s been arguing and vote to create an army for the Republic, because they’ll be more scared of the Separatists. It’s like the Separatists  _ want  _ there to be a war. If they really wanted to secede, they just… could. Without shedding any blood.” He looked at Jennifer again, expression perplexed. “I feel like we’re missing something here.” 

“Well, maybe if we go to Geonosis we’ll find out,” Jennifer added. Derek sighed, dropping his head back against the wall, his fingers still tangled with hers.

“We  _ know  _ that’s where her bounty hunter is, Derek,” Jennifer argued. “The tracker we put on the ship back on Coruscant pinged. It’s a  _ definite  _ lead.” 

“We can’t leave Braeden here unprotected,” Derek insisted, looking at her. “And we’re not separating.” 

“Then we’ll bring Braeden with us,” Jennifer said. “You know she’ll want to come anyways. And she’s a great fighter.” 

“I don’t know,” Derek said, tilting his head to the side. “We’re supposed to stay here. That’s what Laura told us to do.” 

“If Laura knew what we did, maybe she would tell us to go,” Jennifer said. “We can’t pass up this chance.” 

“You really are  _ not  _ a fan of following the rules, are you?” Derek asked, a little grin tugging at his lips, and Jennifer smiled back, leaning into him, her forehead pressed against his. 

“Are you complaining?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as she leaned in to kiss him. 

The hallway disappeared before Lydia, and she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting from the scene in front of her. She was in a cave, it looked like, the only light coming from the bright outdoors visible at the end of the tunnel, and Derek, Jennifer, and Braeden were… Lydia squinted, and sure enough, she could make out binders around their hands, all three of them huddling together in the back of a chariot, like they were about to be hauled off somewhere. Geonosian guards were milling around, and Lydia could hear the buzz of a crowd outside the tunnel in what looked like an enormous arena. She moved closer, trying to make out their conversation. 

“They have an entire  _ army,  _ Jennifer,” Derek said, voice clipped. “Gods know how many droids they have already functional, plus the ones we saw in assembly. I think it’s a safe bet to say they’re hoping for a war.” 

“Thank you, Derek, I didn’t realize that,” Jennifer retorted, rolling her eyes. 

“This is more than an assassination attempt,” Derek insisted. “This is a full-on  _ coup.”  _

“So what do we do?” Braeden butted in. “No offense, but I’m really not in the mood to be executed in front of the entire population of Geonosis  _ and _ the Trade Federation.” 

“We hope Laura got our holo,” Derek said. “And we stay alive until we find a way out.” 

“Our job is still to protect you, Senator,” Jennifer added. “We’ve got your back.” 

No sooner had Jennifer spoken than the chariot began to move, pulling the three prisoners out into the arena beyond the cave. Lydia followed behind, squinting in the bright light, the sand of the arena rough beneath her feet. 

The amphitheater was packed with Geonosians, shouting and jeering as the prisoners were chained to enormous stone columns at one end, clearly where they were meant to be held until someone, or something, killed them. 

A voice echoed out through the arena, amplified by a microphone, and Lydia searched for the source, just as Derek, Jennifer, and Braeden were. There was a Neimoidian— probably one of the leaders of the Separatist movement, Lydia reasoned— speaking, but the figure lurking behind them, in dark robes and dark glasses, seemed to be drawing Jennifer’s attention. 

“Derek,” she hissed, and the padawan turned his head sharply to meet her gaze. “That’s Deucalion, in the shadows, I’m positive. Kali’s old master who was expelled from the pack  _ years  _ ago after he became too dependent on the dark side,” she explained at Derek’s confused expression. At those words, though, his eyes widened, realization dawning over him. “We all thought he was dead. No one’s seen him since he left the pack.” 

“Oh my gods,” he said, eyes fixed on the man in the shadows. “Jennifer—  _ he’s  _ the sith lord. And he’s with the Separatists— the sith is  _ behind  _ all of this. They’re the ones trying to start the war.” 

“Well, they’re succeeding,” Braeden muttered, as a battalion of droids marched out into the arena, blasters at the ready. 

“Any brilliant ideas?” Jennifer asked, a forced grin on her face, like she was mocking Derek. “Because I really don’t like our odds against a firing squad.” 

“I’m working on it,” Derek hissed. “At the last second run behind these pillars. That’ll give us enough shelter to figure something else out.” 

“Ready!” the voice over the speakers called, and the droids raised their blasters, pointed right for the trio. Lydia’s breath caught, staring at the impending army, their stance locked and their guns raised. 

“Now!” Derek yelled, at the same time the voice spoke: “Fire!”

All three of them dashed to the other side of the pillars, the blaster fire ricocheting off the stone pillars, the sand around the bases scattering. The droids paused, noticing their would-be victims were hiding, before walking forward, drawing closer to the trio. 

“Any ideas, Derek?” Jennifer said, flinching as a blaster bolt grazed near her shoulder. 

“You know, coming here  _ was  _ your idea,” he said, and Lydia  could see his eyes were bright gold, his hands straining against the binders. He closed his eyes, clearly concentrating, stretching his hands out toward the box with the Separatist leaders, like he was reaching for something. 

“I don’t want to nag, but they’re getting closer,” Braeden said. Derek didn’t say anything, his hands straining, fingertips shaking with the effort. 

Lydia watched as from the box, two small metal cylinders came rushing through the air, like they were tied to an invisible string looped around Derek’s hand. He caught one in each hand, the lightsaber in his right hand igniting immediately, as he deftly maneuvered it to slice through the chains on his hand, finally breaking free. 

“Here!” he called, tossing Jennifer hers, which she quickly used to free herself, Derek darting over to Braeden to free the senator, deflecting blaster bolts as he ran. 

“Kill them!” the Separatists roared, but Jennifer reached out her hand, tugging a blaster from a nearby droid and tossing it to Braeden. 

“How did you know those were up there?” she asked Derek, turning back to back with him, the two of them blocking blaster bolts as Braeden shot down droids from behind the pillar. 

“Lucky guess,” he answered, slashing down a droid that got too close. 

“This isn’t going to hold them for long,” Braeden cut in. “There’s a whole battalion here.” 

“Wait,” Jennifer said, standing still for a moment. “Listen. Do you hear that?” 

The trio looked up, and Lydia did too, catching sight of what Jennifer had heard— carriers, dozens of them, were descending from the sky, Jedi wolves leaping out of each one, lightsabers powered on. And behind them… 

They looked like Stormtroopers, but Lydia knew they weren’t; there weren’t any stormtroopers when the Republic still stood. Regardless, hundreds of clones in the signature white armor flooded the arena, plowing down the droids. 

Lydia stepped back, her heart pounding as she realized what this was. She was watching the beginning of the Clone War. 

“I thought I told you to stay on Naboo!” Laura snapped, running to her padawan, expertly deflecting blaster fire and slashing down droids simultaneously. Lydia had seen Scott use his lightsaber, but the way Laura moved with the blade— it was clear that she was a master for a reason, the lightsaber moving like it was an extension of her arm.

“We had a slight change of plans,” Derek said, wincing. Beside him, Jennifer stilled, her eyes locked on something on the far side of the arena. 

“Deucalion,” she breathed, pointing, and Derek followed her gaze. “He’s getting away.” 

_ “Deucalion?”  _ Laura asked, aghast. Derek just nodded, already running.

“He’s the sith lord. He’s behind this. We can’t let him get away.” The others seemed to agree, because all four of them sprinted to the nearest clone carrier, Jennifer shielding the quartet from incoming fire with her lightsaber. 

“Follow that speeder,” Laura commanded the pilot, pointing at Deucalion’s disappearing craft. 

Lydia blinked, and the arena had disappeared, replaced by a dimly lit cavern, Derek, Laura, and Jennifer huddled around Braeden, a hand clutched to her throat, blood seeping through her fingers. They were all bloodied and beaten, had  _ clearly  _ just fought Deucalion and failed, though the sith lord was nowhere to be seen. 

“Laura,” a new voice called, and Lydia turned to see a woman hurrying towards the group, the way she moved just  _ radiating  _ power. “Are you all alright?” 

“Master Talia,” Laura sighed in relief, her shoulders sagging. Lydia stiffened, regarding Scott’s master in awe. 

“Deucalion got away,” Laura supplied. “Although his attempts to kill the senator were still unsuccessful.” 

Braeden looked up woozily at the Jedi master, lowering her hand slightly from the cloth clutched at her throat. A shock ran through Lydia at the realization that the blood was coming from three long claw marks at her throat— the source of the scars Lydia was so familiar with. “We need to get her to a medcenter immediately,” Laura continued, and Talia nodded, gesturing for the clone troops behind her to help Braeden to the shuttle, Talia following behind them. 

“Master Laura,” Derek said, stepping forward, and it was only then that Lydia realized his hand had still been linked with Jennifer’s, the other padawan leaning subtly into his side. “Where did these clones come from?” 

“Kamino,” she supplied, offering no further explanation. “They were waiting for us.” 

“This is it, isn’t it?” Jennifer asked quietly, stepping towards Derek, their hands brushing. “This is the beginning of it all.” 

“Yes,” Laura sighed, and for the first time since Lydia had seen her, Laura looked  _ defeated.  _ “This is the start of the war.” 

The scene vanished again, and Lydia blinked at the sudden flood of bright sunlight, glinting off the marble columns of a building she was  _ very  _ familiar with. The front hall of the galactic senate building looked exactly the same as she remembered it, from all her trips to Coruscant to represent Alderaan there. All sorts of sentients milled around in the hall, conversing softly with each other, but Lydia noticed the one figure who stood out— clad in dark Jedi robes, glancing around like he was waiting for someone— Derek Kenobi stood by himself, leaning against one of the enormous marble pillars in a notably un-senator-like way. 

He was older, Lydia noticed, his jawline sharper and covered in a layer of scruff, like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His shoulders were broader too— clearly a few years had passed since the last memory she had seen. He looked more grown up now, less like an unsure padawan and more like a  _ Jedi.  _

“Derek?” Lydia heard echo through the hall, and both of them turned at the same time, Derek’s expression clearing when he caught sight of Jennifer approaching him. She looked older too, her curls shorter, cascading down her back as she practically jumped into Derek’s arms. 

“Jennifer,” he sighed, burying his face into her shoulder. “Gods, I was worried.”

“Mission was a success,” she murmured, arms still tight around Derek. “Sorry I couldn’t comm. Our transmitter got destroyed in the battle.” 

“It’s okay,” Derek said, pulling back, the two of them clearly trying to keep  _ some  _ semblance of normalcy. “I’m just glad you’re back.” 

“And I will be, for a while,” Jennifer said. “The Chancellor wants me to be his personal advisor from the Jedi side of things,” she continued. “He says he needs someone who’s been out in battle, who has seen what’s happening in the galaxy. I’ll be on Coruscant for the foreseeable future.” 

“Good,” Derek said, his hand brushing against hers. He inhaled, a smile playing at his lips, eyes locked on Jennifer’s, before his brow furrowed, his expression shifting. 

“Uh, don’t take this the wrong way,” Derek said, mouth pursed. “But you… smell weird. I can smell you’re anxious, but…  _ your  _ scent is off.” 

“Yeah,” Jennifer said, and even Lydia could see the apprehension in her eyes. “We need to talk. Someone more private than this.” 

Derek’s brow furrowed, his expression still so confused, but he took Jennifer’s hand, leading her out of the senate hall, to an empty corridor off the side. 

“What’s going on?” Derek said, resting one hand against her cheek, and Jennifer leaned into it, much more liberal with their displays of affection in private. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly, before glancing up at him through her lashes.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, cutting right to the point, and both Derek and Lydia froze. 

Logically, Lydia thought, she knew this happened. These were her  _ parents,  _ as weird as it was to think that— in Lydia’s mind, really, she was positive when she thought  _ parents,  _ she would always think of Natalie. Of her  _ real  _ mother. But seeing Derek’s eyes widen, Jennifer worry her lip nervously… Lydia was a little taken aback by how surreal this was. Generally, people didn’t get to see their parents’ reaction to finding out they were expecting. 

“You’re… wait…  _ what?”  _ Derek said, shaking his head a little bit, clearly in disbelief. “You’re pregnant?” 

She just nodded, looking apprehensively at Derek, like she was bracing herself for the worst. Derek, however, just blinked a couple more times, still dazed, before moving forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest. 

“Oh my gods,” Derek sighed, resting his head against the top of hers. “Jen. How long have you known?” 

“A couple weeks,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “I could— I can hear their heartbeats.” 

Derek pulled away, eyes impossibly wider. “Heart _ beats?”  _

“Two,” she said, nodding. “Twins.” 

Derek exhaled, shaking his head, eyes fixed on a point off in the distance. “Kest,” he whispered, and Lydia could see it looked like Jennifer was about to either scream or cry. 

“Der,” she said, voice low. “You have to tell me… what are you thinking, right now?”

He looked back down at her, and suddenly seemed to sense the fear in her eyes. His expression softened, a small smile creeping onto his lips. 

“I am… I’m happy,” he told her, smoothing his hands over her arms. “I’m so happy, Jennifer.” 

She sighed, wrapping her arms around him again, tucking herself into his chest. “Me too,” she said, finally allowing herself to smile softly, her eyes drifting closed. “But I’m also—” she pulled away, meeting his eyes. “What the  _ hell  _ are we going to do?” 

Derek shook his head, eyebrows raised. “I honestly… I don’t know,” he said, his fingers intertwining with hers. He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I guess keep hiding it until it becomes…  _ noticeable,  _ and… hopefully by then we’ve come up with something.” 

“I guess,” she said, looking down at their entwined fingers. “We don’t really have any other choice, do we?” 

“I wish we did,” Derek whispered, leaning down to meet her eyes. “I’m sick of half my life being made up of lies.” 

“That’s what we get for being part of a dictatorial pack that regulates our very  _ feelings  _ for others,” Jennifer muttered, voice icy. She looked up at Derek again, though, and her expression immediately softened. “Sometimes I wish I’d never joined the pack in the first place.” 

“I mean…” Derek hesitated, glancing down at her stomach, resting one hand gently over it. “We could leave.” 

Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked. “Do you seriously mean that?” 

“I don’t know if we’re going to have any other choice,” he said, looking at her. “Because I want this, Jennifer, more than  _ anything.  _ I want this with you. But if Talia finds out— you’ll be expelled, at least. Me too, probably. It wouldn’t take much for Laura to piece it together.” 

“So we leave,” Jennifer said, and Derek nodded, his expression still soft, looking at her. 

“The war’s almost over,” he said. “Deucalion is dead. The Separatists don’t have a leader anymore. Natalie and Braeden and Deaton have been working on a peace accords. As soon as this is done— we just  _ leave.  _ Go find some outer rim planet and stay there and live our  _ lives.”  _

“You mean that?” Jennifer asked, a smile tugging at her lips. Derek nodded, squeezing her hand. 

“Yes,” he assured her, eyes drifting closed as he pressed his forehead to hers. “All I need, in the whole galaxy, is you, Jennifer. Us. This family.” 

Lydia’s heart panged, looking at her parents— her  _ parents—  _ talking about  _ family,  _ and how they wanted this, wanted her and Scott— what the hell had gone wrong, between now and then? Sure, Jennifer was cynical, and bitter about the rules of the Pack, but what… what in the galaxy could have  _ possibly  _ turned this woman into Vader in such a short time? 

Jennifer leaned into Derek, tilting her head up to press her lips to Derek’s, kissing him slowly, gratefully. They pulled away, hands still linked, foreheads pressed together a moment later, still wary of being caught. 

“You’re all I need too,” she told him, and as her parents leaned back into each other, the scene around Lydia dissolved.

When the room around her solidified, Lydia almost did a double take, because— these had been her senatorial apartments, when she had been sixteen and lived on Coruscant for a term. She turned away from the familiar windows, the same glass and metal furniture, the plush carpet so soft under her bare feet, and faced the sitting room, and almost sobbed. 

Sitting there on the couch, not a hair out of place, expression perfect and poised, was her mother, Natalie. 

“Mom?” Lydia spoke, just out of instinct, before remembering that this wasn’t  _ real,  _ that her mother couldn’t hear her. She surveyed the other people on the couch— Derek was seated across from it, arms crossed over his Jedi robes, and diagonal from him, in a plush armchair, was Deaton. Braeden sat next to Natalie, her injury healed over completely, the familiar scars in their place. 

“It’s starting to get ridiculous,” Derek was saying, eyes darting between all the senators around him. “The Separatists are practically defeated, and we’re still deploying more clones and Jedi out through the galaxy. The war should be  _ over,  _ and instead it’s just… still going.” 

“The same is happening in the senate,” Natalie agreed, and Lydia’s heart pounded at the sound of her mother’s voice, clear as day and  _ just  _ how she remembered it. “Any attempts to stop the fighting and let diplomacy continue are brushed off. The separatists have no leader anymore. Their only strength is their number of battle droids. Most of their holds on planets have fallen at this point too. It should be  _ easy  _ to negotiate a peace treaty at this point, but it’s not happening.”

“I hate to suggest this,” Deaton agreed, “but it’s almost like the Chancellor doesn’t  _ want  _ the war to end.” 

Deaton’s remarks were met with silence, all four people glancing down. “I agree,” Braeden finally spoke up. “And it wouldn’t surprise me if the reason why is because he doesn’t want to give up his emergency powers.” 

“I think it’s time we all consider that the Chancellor, and the Republic, are… not serving their purpose anymore,” Deaton said, hesitantly. “The galactic senate is supposed to have the people’s best interests in mind. But I think we can say, at this point in time— it doesn’t.” 

“So then what do we do?” Derek asked, eyes locked on Deaton’s. “The role of the Jedi pack is to protect the galaxy, not fight wars. We’re supposed to be guardians of peace, not soldiers. And for the past three years, we’ve been acting as soldiers. It’s not helping  _ anyone,  _ let alone the people of the Republic.” 

“The same goes for the senate,” Natalie said. “We should be fighting to protect the people, not fighting to continue a war.” 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Deaton?” Braeden asked. Deaton nodded, glancing solemnly at the senator. 

“This can’t leave this room,” Deaton said. “It would be considered  _ high  _ treason. But if the war doesn’t end soon, as it should— and if the Chancellor won’t relinquish his powers—” 

“Then the Galactic Senate isn’t serving the purpose it’s supposed to,” Natalie supplied. “And we have to.” 

“Senator,” Derek said, expression almost desperate. “What are you suggesting?” 

“What I’m suggesting, Derek,” Deaton said, glancing around at the other senators, inhaling sharply, “is a rebellion.” 

The people around her faded, the scene dissolving into bright white light, before solidifying into another place that Lydia knew. The senators were gone; this time Derek and Jennifer were alone, in one of the secluded gardens in the senatorial building. Lydia knew this place— she had escaped here often, in her time on Coruscant. It had flora from all sorts of planets, all over the galaxy, and there was a whole little corner of flowers from Alderaan that had always comforted her, made her feel like she was home. Lydia wondered if they were still there now, one of the only other living remnants of her homeworld. 

“We’re running out of time, Derek,” Jennifer whispered, one hand clutching his, the other pressed to her stomach. Lydia noticed her robes were much looser fitting now, the wide leather belt Derek wore gone, and still, the curve of her stomach was just noticeable, if you were looking for it. 

“I know,” he said, brow furrowing, and it was clear he was conflicted. “But the war isn’t ending. I thought we’d be into the peace negotiations by now; it’s been  _ months  _ of pointless fighting.” 

“Well we need to leave soon, or people are going to start realizing,” Jennifer returned, her expression hardened. Lydia could see the fear in her eyes, the apprehension in her expression as she worried her lip. “I think the Emperor has noticed. He hasn’t said anything, but… I have a feeling he knows.” 

“Would he tell anyone?” Derek asked, expression concerned. “Would he tell Talia?” 

Jennifer shook her head vehemently. “No. He doesn’t trust the Pack, really. Only me. He wouldn’t tell.” 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” Derek noted, one eyebrow raised slightly. Jennifer shook her head, looking at him like he was an idiot. 

“I work for him, Derek,” she said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Can we return to the issue at hand?” 

“We can’t leave until the fighting is over,” Derek insisted, shaking his head. “We have a duty to the Pack. We swore an oath.” 

“An oath that we’ve  _ already broken,  _ in case you forgot,” Jennifer snapped, gesturing slightly to her stomach. “Oath or no oath, Der, the Pack has done nothing but beat us down for our whole lives. Forcing us to live a life void of attachments? Of  _ emotions?  _ Making us fight a war that no one wants to fight?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said, shaking his head. “We’re still a part of it. I know we’re leaving, but…” 

Jennifer’s expression went blank.  _ “Don’t  _ tell me you’re reconsidering.” 

“I’m… I know we have to leave,” he started, and Jennifer’s expression was  _ furious.  _ “But the Pack… it’s all we’ve ever known,” he said, taking her other hand in his. 

“Yeah, and they’ve brainwashed you since you were little to be a feelingless robot and fight wars you don’t want to fight, all while still thinking  _ they’re  _ the heroes. The Pack is messed up, Derek,” Jennifer said. “And if we don’t leave soon, they’re going to  _ expel  _ me from the temple before they  _ take our children  _ to raise them in the same messed up environment  _ we  _ were raised in.” 

“Okay,” Derek said, finally giving in. “We’ll give it a little more time, okay? And then we’ll go.” Jennifer just nodded, moving forward into his arms, and Lydia didn’t miss the way one of his hands rested over her stomach, comfortingly, protectively. 

The garden disappeared, and Lydia blinked, the lighting of this new memory much dimmer. The carpet underneath her feet was plush, and Lydia looked down, taking in the rich upholstery, the heavy drapes framing the huge glass windows, the lights of Coruscant twinkling outside, the sky inky black. These weren’t her senatorial apartments; they were much too fancy. Silently, she walked forward, surveying her surroundings as she moved through the elegant office. 

“You can’t say anything, Chancellor,” Lydia heard someone say, and she turned the corner, moving into the next room of the suite, lingering in the doorway. In front of her was Jennifer, dressed in dark clothing, much more pregnant than the last time Lydia had seen her. Her hair was tied back from her face, long, dark curls tumbling down her back. She stood in front of a man, his face shrouded in a hood, and the look of desperation in her eyes was clear. 

“Oh, I won’t. I promise,” the man said, and Lydia stepped back in surprise at the sound of the Emperor’s voice.  _ Chancellor,  _ Jennifer had called him. So this was before the end of the war, before he had dissolved their democracy and declared himself Emperor of the galaxy. 

“But what are you and Derek planning to do?” the emperor asked. “I can’t imagine Talia is going to let…  _ that  _ go unnoticed much longer.”

“Talia still doesn’t know,” Jennifer insisted. “We’ve been careful. I haven’t seen her in person in months. But we’re… we’re going to leave. Go to the outer rim, or somewhere. Forget the Pack. Just live.” 

“You better do it soon,” the emperor responded, almost conversationally. “If you’re not careful, Talia will take those children before you can get away. And then you’ll never see them again.” 

“Derek wants to wait until the war is over,” Jennifer muttered, bitterness evident in her tone.  

“This war is never going to end, sweetheart,” the emperor said, clucking his tongue. “The Pack has made sure of that.” 

“What?” Jennifer said, face blanching. “What do you mean, it’s  _ never going to end?”  _

“Everything you’ve told me, since you became my advisor— it’s all so clear, now. The way the Jedi and the Clone troopers arrive on the occupied planets, like they’re conquering heroes, saving the locals and putting in place their  _ own  _ occupation.” He paused, and Lydia could see the smile on his face, ever so slightly devious. He was leading Jennifer along, she could tell, but the other woman had no idea. 

“Talia doesn’t listen to me anymore. Or to the Senate. The Jedi have become their own force of power, instilling their rule over the whole galaxy. They’ve become too power hungry. And the second this war ends, their grasp on the power over the galaxy slips. Talia doesn't want that— so it’s  _ never  _ going to end.” 

“Oh my gods,” Jennifer said, eyes wide. She was buying everything the emperor was feeding her, hook, line, and sinker. 

“So I’ll keep your secret,” the emperor assured her, folding his hands. “But you better leave soon. Or you’re  _ never  _ going to get those children back from Talia. From the Pack.” 

The room dissolved, the garden from earlier reappearing, Jennifer huddled on one of the stone benches, her face pallid, expression only what Lydia could call terrified. She looked up suddenly, relief partially flooding her face, as Derek entered, his face flushed— he had clearly raced to get here. 

“Jennifer?” he said, rushing to her side, taking her hands. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Derek,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “We have to leave. We can’t wait any longer. If we’re going, we need to go  _ now.”  _

“But the Pack,” he said, voice half-hearted. “The war— it’s not over yet.” 

“It’s  _ never  _ going to be over, Derek!” she snapped, frustrated. Derek recoiled, like she had slapped him. “The Jedi are  _ behind  _ the whole thing. Talia has been drawing it out, taking power over more and more planets, stealing leadership away from the senate. It’s the  _ Pack’s  _ fault we’re still at war.” 

Derek’s brow furrowed, his expression incredulous. “That  _ can’t  _ be right,” he said, shaking his head. “Who told you that?” 

Jennifer swallowed, glancing up at him. “The Chancellor.” 

“The  _ Chancellor?”  _ Derek said, and now  _ he  _ sounded beyond angry. “Jennifer, I told you to stay away from him!  _ He’s  _ the one behind all this, not the Pack. He’s the one that won’t relinquish his power.” He hesitated, like he was considering whether or not to continue. “I’ve been talking to Laura, and Talia,” he said, carefully. “You know the Sith lord we’ve been searching for, all these years? Whoever was serving as Deucalion’s master?” Jennifer nodded wordlessly, and Derek inhaled. “We think it’s him. We think it’s the Chancellor.” 

_ “What?”  _ Jennifer said, her expression furious. “How can you even— why wouldn’t you  _ tell  _ me something like that?” 

“Because we know you’re close to him, and we didn’t want to tip him off,” Derek supplied. Jennifer’s expression just grew more angry, her eyes fiery as she stared at him. “That’s why I wanted you to stay away from him.” 

“Who’s  _ we?”  _ she demanded, tone acidic. Derek paused before he answered. 

“Laura and Talia.” 

Jennifer stood, her expression absolutely furious, her eyes lit up with rage. “Laura and  _ Talia?”  _ she demanded. “You trusted her— the woman who took you from your family as a kid, who brainwashed you into thinking this lifestyle was  _ good?  _ That living without emotions is  _ healthy?  _ Let me ask you this, Derek,” she spat, voice like acid. “Were you ever really going to leave with me?” 

“Jennifer,” he said, expression softening. “Calm down, of  _ course  _ I was— I  _ love  _ you—” but before he could finish, Jennifer inhaled sharply, stumbling backwards, falling to the bench. Derek’s expression shifted, alarmed, as he rushed to her, cradling her in his arms, helping support her. 

“Jennifer?” he asked, voice panicky. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“The babies,” she gasped, face contorting in pain. “Something’s wrong.” 

“Laura,” Derek gasped, fingers shaking as he found his commlink. “Laura, we’re in the Senate gardens, sector 309. We need help. Come, quick!” Jennifer screamed in pain, her voice grating, like broken glass, before the scene disappeared, vanishing into white light. 

When the light melted away, Lydia found herself alone in the same apartment as before, the silence deafening. She turned around, regarding the posh office again, before an anguished scream echoed through the room, making Lydia jump. 

“They took them,” a voice wailed, and Lydia turned, seeing the emperor and Jennifer again, this time in the other room. “Derek and Talia— they took them from me.” 

“What do you mean, took them?” the emperor asked, voice careful. 

“The last thing I remember, we were in the gardens,” Jennifer said, rushed. “And Laura showed up, and I blacked out. And then I woke up in the medcenter. And my children were  _ gone.”  _

Lydia’s heart hammered in her chest, and she noticed now, Jennifer wasn’t pregnant anymore. She was wearing the same clothes as earlier, her hair braided back messily, her skin pallid and almost translucent. 

“Talia,” the emperor muttered, shaking his head. 

“I don’t have anyone else but you,” Jennifer whispered, desperate. “Derek— he’s with the Pack. He’s  _ always  _ been with the Pack. I should have noticed it earlier.” 

“It’s okay, Jennifer,” the Emperor assured her, his voice mock-comforting. “You were in love. He fooled you. But, don’t worry, you’ll get your children back. And the Jedi will pay.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, dropping to the floor before the emperor. “I want them to feel this same agony I do. I want  _ revenge.”  _

“Good,” the emperor said lightly. “I want to give it to you. But,” he said, his voice lilting, “there’s only one way I can help you to get that.” 

“What do I do? How do I make them pay?” 

“You must swear allegiance to me,” the emperor said. “You have too much potential to waste your powers on the Pack, Jennifer. Become my apprentice, and I’ll teach you to use the Force as we  _ should  _ be using it. You will help me  _ end  _ the Jedi Wolves.”

“Anything, my lord,” Jennifer said, kneeling before the emperor, bowing her head. “I will do anything, master.” 

“Good,” the emperor said, voice permeated with sick delight. “Then rise, Lord Vader.” 

Slowly, Jennifer rose to her feet, her expression heartbroken and wild as she surveyed the emperor. Lydia inhaled sharply at the sight of her eyes— bright and vibrant blue, but ringed with dark, inky black. It was the same pair of eyes Lydia had seen in her dreams for the past two years, begging with a shadowy figure on the lava shores of a mysterious planet.

“You have to go to the temple,” the emperor informed Jennifer. “Kill them all. No survivors. If we want the Jedi to really pay, we have to eliminate their entire pack. Make them feel weakened. When you’re done, go to Mustafar. The Separatists are waiting there. Kill them as well. We’re going to end this war, and take the power back from Talia.”  

“It will be done, Master,” she promised, but her voice sounded strained, like she was physically forcing the words out. 

“Good,” the emperor said, turning towards his desk, picking up a commlink, as Jennifer turned, fleeing the office. “Execute Order 66,” the emperor said into the link, and a scratchy voice answered in confirmation. 

Lydia staggered back suddenly as the world around her rushed forwards, almost like she was traveling through hyperspace. The plush office faded around her, and suddenly she was in a different building, tall and echoey, every surface made of marble— the Jedi Temple again. Jennifer stood before her again, lightsaber ignited but held down, as she surveyed the bodies lying on the floor around her. 

_ So  _ many bodies, Lydia thought. Adults. Children. All motionless, lifeless, cut down by Jennifer’s lightsaber, or the Clone troopers moving ahead of her, blasters still raised. Alarms blared in the distance, and Lydia could smell smoke, hear blaster fire, but nothing was as strong as the scent of anger rolling off Jennifer. 

She turned towards Lydia, surveying her work, and Lydia could see the panic in her eyes. She groped for a commlink on her wrist, bringing it up to eye level and conjuring up the emperor. 

“What is Order 66?” Jennifer demanded, her voice ever so slightly afraid.  

“A kill switch, programmed into every clone,” the emperor explained. “For  _ exactly  _ this purpose. To end the Jedi.” 

“The Jedi includes Derek,” Jennifer said, voice on edge. “My  _ children  _ are Jedi. If the clones hurt them— If Derek dies—” 

“Derek stole your children from you, Jennifer,” the emperor snapped. “I thought you wanted the Jedi to pay?” 

“There must have been a different way,” she whispered, her voice panicky. 

“There is no other way,” the mperor retorted. “Remember who the real enemy is here. Go to Mustafar. End this war, and then you can find your children.” 

“You’re right,” Jennifer said, tone steely again. “I’m sorry. It will be done, Master.”

The holo disappeared, and Jennifer sunk to her knees, surveying the scene around her with what Lydia could only describe as immense guilt in her expression. “What have I done?” she whispered, eyes full of remorse. But it wasn’t enough— Lydia could see the black rings still circling her bright blue irises. 

The world faded away again, and Lydia coughed as the smell of sulfur filled her nostrils. The jagged rocks hurt her bare feet as she stepped through the familiar rocky terrain of Mustafar, the lava banks glowing beside her. 

Jennifer was there as well, her lightsaber held slack by her side, her face still twisted in remorse. Her skin still looked so pale as she turned towards Lydia, her eyes caught on something over her shoulder. 

“Derek?” Jennifer said, voice half angry and half relieved, and she walked past Lydia, towards a hooded figure approaching from a starship. The figure lowered his hood, and Lydia saw Derek approaching them, his expression troubled, like he was having trouble processing his surroundings.

“Jennifer,” Derek said, the relief in his voice evident. “I’ve been looking for you—”

“No,” she spat, her eyes fiery. “No, you don’t get to do that.” Derek paused, his expression apprehensive, but Jennifer walked closer. “You  _ took  _ them from me. Where are they, Derek?  _ Tell me where they are!”  _

“They’re safe,” Derek said, holding his hands up in surrender. “They’re with Talia.” 

“No!” she snapped, voice full of venom. “No, you didn’t give them to Talia. Please tell me you didn’t. She’s the one behind all this!” 

“Behind _ what,  _ Jennifer?” Derek demanded. “The Chancellor is in your head, convincing you the Pack is the enemy. This isn’t you. I know.” 

“Maybe it is!” she fired back. “Talia’s the one who wanted to  _ take _ our  _ children  _ from us. The one who has forced us, for our entire  _ lives,  _ to never feel anything, to shut away our emotions and never form connections with others. Why are you trusting her? She’s been making us fight a war we don’t want to fight for the past three years. This whole thing, she’s behind it!” 

“This is the Chancellor speaking, Jennifer, okay? Listen to me,” Derek pleaded. “He’s the Sith lord we’ve been looking for! Laura—” his voice broke, his eyes clouding. “Talia and Laura confronted him, tried to arrest him. He killed Laura. Talia barely got away.” He paused, blinking. “Come with me now. We can take the babies, go somewhere far from here, out in the outer rim. Forget about the pack and the Republic, and just  _ live.”  _

“We don’t have to do that,” Jennifer said. “Because I’m ending the war right now. I’m going to find my children, and we won’t  _ have  _ to live in constant fear. And I’m going to make the Jedi Pack  _ pay  _ for what they’ve done to us.” 

_ “Pay?”  _ Derek said, voice shocked. “They’ve been  _ slaughtered,  _ Jennifer, by the clones! How much more can they pay? They’re all  _ dead!”  _

“Not Talia,” Jennifer said, her expression full of malice. “I’m going to kill her, for what she did to us.” 

“Jennifer,” Derek insisted, taking a step closer to her. “Calm down, okay? Whatever the Chancellor’s been telling you, you just need to—” 

“Derek,” Jennifer said, her tone warning, eyes angry and wild. “I’m going to kill her. And if you try to stop me, I’m going to kill you too.” 

“What?” Derek asked, taken aback, but Jennifer was already charging, lightsaber ignited. Derek blocked in the last moment, his expression heartbroken and confused as he fought her off. 

Lydia watched in horror as they battled, lightsabers a blur of light, the two blades barely distinguishable. It seemed like a lifetime later that they were matched on the bank, Jennifer by the edge of the lava flow, Derek high above her, their robes singed, sweat pouring down both their faces. 

“Give up, Jennifer,” Derek pleaded, voice still heartbroken. “I’ve got the high ground.” 

“No,” she insisted, voice bitter with anger. “Tell me where they are.” 

“You know I can’t,” Derek insisted. 

_ “Tell me!”  _ she demanded, her voice pure agony. Lydia stepped back, a little alarmed by the venom in her words. 

“I can’t,” Derek sighed, his expression tortured, and Jennifer turned her lightsaber back on, her scowl turning into a full on growl. “Don’t,” Derek pleaded, but Jennifer leapt over him, calling the Force to push her over Derek, trying to get higher up than him. Derek swiped at her with his lightsaber, slicing her legs off and sending her tumbling down the lava bank, screaming in agony. 

Jennifer screamed again as the lava flow ignited her robes, her entire body going up in flames. Lydia watched as Derek looked on, heartbroken, at the writhing figure in front of him. Her hair was gone, face mangled from the flames, her bright, glowing eyes the only recognizable part of her. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Derek cried, his voice full of anger as he screamed at Jennifer. “We were supposed to escape from here, leave the Pack, raise our kids together. You weren’t supposed to fall to the dark side!” 

“This is your fault!” Jennifer screamed back, her voice a little distorted. “You _took them from me!_ I _hate_ _you!”_

“I loved you,” Derek responded, voice smaller, heart shattered. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” 

He turned, walking away, as Jennifer writhed on the bank. Her words were like daggers, like shards of glass flying through the air, but Derek kept walking, ignoring her. 

“Derek, come back!” she begged. “You have to tell me where they are! Where are they, Derek?  _ Tell me where they are!”  _

Lydia sat up, her heart pounding and the harsh smell of sulfur still lingering in her nose. 

“Hey, Lyds,” Stiles mumbled, shifting in bed, his arm draping over her waist. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she said, her heart still beating frantically. “Just a dream.” 

“C’mere,” Stiles offered, pulling her closer, and she gave into his touch, falling into his side. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, allowing his steady heartbeat and even breaths to lull her back to sleep. 

When she did nod off, the nightmares of her parents didn’t return. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Now that last chapter is done being edited (added to immensely) I'm gonna try to post twice a week ish so I can wrap this story up! There are... six more chapters, I think? 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter actually DOES feature the main characters, so. Sorry about all the backstory in the last chapter, but hopefully it answered some questions you had (or didn't even know you had!) 
> 
> As always, I love hearing what you think if you'd like to leave a comment! I hope you like this! Enjoy!

The morning was bright and sunny, and Lydia did admit, she felt marginally better. Stiles was still asleep in their tiny shared bunk, so she got dressed in silence, as to not wake him, before walking outside, to the bridge connecting their treehouse to the rest of the village. Lydia could see the ewoks already bustling around the place, migrating from treehouse to treehouse, swinging from vines in the warm morning sunshine. 

Lydia decided, looking over the serene forest landscape, that whatever Scott had told her last night and whatever she had dreamed, or seen, or  _ whatever,  _ was being forgotten for the current moment. Today, they were going to disable the shields over the Death Star and destroy it, if they were lucky. Today could be the beginning of the end, the first crippling blow that would lead to the defeat of the Empire. Lydia had been waiting her whole life for this mission; everything she had done in the past four and a half years had been leading to this day. If she lost focus, if she failed because she was too preoccupied worrying about something she couldn’t control— what kind of leader would that make her? Regardless of her parentage, of her powers, of  _ anything,  _ Lydia knew with certainty that the one thing she could do was fight for the Rebellion. So she was blocking Vader from her mind, refusing to think about it until later. Right now, the Rebellion needed her. And she was going to be there. 

She turned away from the sunlit village, walking back into the treehouse she and Stiles had shared, the sound of bird calls fading inside. He was still fast asleep, snoring gently. Lydia rolled her eyes at him, sprawled out across the too small bunk. One leg dangled over the side of the bunk, with the other stretched out against the rough treehouse wall. His arms sprawled in different directions, and his hair was flattened to one side, but his face was completely serene in sleep. 

Lydia poked him in the forehead. 

Stiles immediately sprung up, his limbs flailing as he regained consciousness. 

“Wha? What happened? Who's dead?” he mumbled, his eyes blinking sleepily. Lydia rolled her eyes again, fighting to keep in her laughter. 

“No one's dead,” she replied. “The ewoks are showing us to the back door of the base soon. Wake up and eat something before we leave.” 

“Are we sure we can trust their food supply?” he asked, now fully sitting up. “I mean, last night they  _ did _ try to roast and eat me.” 

Lydia couldn't help but chuckle this time. “Here,” she said, grabbing a ration bar from her pack and handing it to him. “Get ready.” She moved to walk outside the cabin again, but Stiles caught her wrist, gently tugging her towards him. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly, looking up at her earnestly, his eyes shining in the early morning light. She nodded silently, squeezing his hand, blinking back the moisture behind her eyes. If he knew— if she told him who she really was, where she really came from— 

“Because— I know you don’t wanna talk about it— but when you  _ do _ , I’m here. I’ll listen, okay?” he said, that look on his face like she could do no wrong, and Lydia wanted to break down and tell him; she couldn’t stand this  _ guilt _ — but if she said it now, it would be out in the open and  _ real,  _ and she couldn’t deal with that right now. 

“I know,” she whispered to Stiles. “Thank you.” Right now, she couldn’t afford to get distracted. She had to be ready to fight. The Rebellion needed her.

***

It must have been early when the stormtroopers returned to drag Scott from his cell, because when the door slid open, soldiers roughly grabbing him and waking him up, he felt like he had just fallen asleep. Scott had stared at the metal ceiling above him for hours last night, unable to drift off, the metal bench below him cold and uncomfortable. The cell was a practical replica of the one they’d rescued Lydia from years ago, and all Scott could think about was how she had spent close to a week on the Death Star, being tortured for information, certain she would die at any minute. Scott didn’t think anyone gave her enough credit for how incredibly brave she was. 

Vader waited in the hallway outside Scott’s cell, the stormtroopers leaving them the moment Scott was handed over. Vader led him into one of the lifts silently.

“You are to see the Emperor,” Vader informed him quietly, though her tone was smooth and mechanical again. Scott couldn’t get any reading of her emotions. “He wants you as his new apprentice.” 

Scott almost laughed. “I’m not joining him. Or falling to the dark side.” 

“You will,” Vader told him. “If you don’t, you’ll die.” 

“That doesn’t scare me,” Scott said, brushing off the threat as the lift door slid open. “I’m not turning. And I’m not afraid to die.” Regardless of what he had told Lydia, he had already embraced the very real possibility that he would still be on the Death Star when the fleet blew it to pieces. But if the Emperor died too— it would be worth it then. 

Vader froze next to Scott at his declaration, and Scott was overcome by the scent of pain and guilt and pure  _ anguish  _ rolling off of Vader.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” a voice echoed, and Scott’s blood turned to ice. 

Vader pushed him out of the lift, into the cavernous room beyond— it was dark and cold, lined in pipes and wires and other mechanics of the Death Star, framed with floor-to-ceiling windows, Endor and the galaxy beyond easily visible. In front of the windows, in a large, curved throne, was the Emperor. 

The power that radiated off of him, the cold-as-ice aura he gave off, and the distinctive, pungent scent of his emotions— greed, anger, lust for power— burned the inside of Scott’s nose. The Emperor’s face was shrouded in his long, dark cape— Scott didn’t think  _ anyone _ had ever seen his face— but visible through the shadows was the Emperor’s malicious, twisted smile. Scott tried to tamp down his fear; despite what Talia may have said, he was  _ so _ out of his league here, and he couldn’t have the Emperor know how terrified he truly was. Because while Scott could feel the darkness surrounding Vader, this was completely different. Vader had capacity to change, the smallest hint of light underneath. The darkness rolling off of the Emperor was consuming and almost magnetic— like a black hole pulling every spare bit of light around it in.  _ This _ was what a true Sith wolf felt like. 

“Emperor Hale,” Scott said quietly, narrowing his eyes. Practically no one used the Emperor’s actual name in his title anymore;  _ Peter Hale _ was a name of the past. Now, everyone, politicians and Imperial officers included, simply referred to him as “The Emperor.” 

“Scott Skywalker,” the Emperor responded, and his voice was so  _ strange _ , Scott thought. Calm and melodic but backed with icy venom, and the power that radiated from every word— his voice sounded almost garbled, though, as though his teeth didn’t really fit in his mouth, like something was keeping his lips from fully closing. Scott looked harder at his mouth, his twisted smile, and noticed with a start that there  _ was  _ something keeping his mouth from closing all the way. Long, sharp, canine fangs, just like Scott’s wolf teeth, protruded past his top and bottom lips, and his other teeth were slanted, sharper, just like a real wolf’s. A shiver raced down Scott’s spine again. 

“Nice of  you to finally join us,” Peter said. “I feel like I’ve been waiting up here  _ forever _ , honestly— it’s not every day you get a new apprentice.” 

Scott’s stomach flipped, bile rising in his throat. “I’m not your apprentice. I’m here to save—”

“Oh, I know, you want to save your mom,” Peter said, his lips pulling into a mocking pout, but his fangs still poked out over his lips. “I’m sorry, Scott— really, I am— but the woman who was your mother isn’t here anymore. There’s no saving her. We’re both creatures of the dark side. Soon you will be too, once I finish your training.” 

“My training  _ is  _ finished,” Scott spat, squaring his shoulders. 

“Really?” Peter asked. “Your eyes say differently.” A low growl echoed from Peter’s throat, and Scott felt his eyes burn. They should have been blue, signified that his training was over, but when he caught his reflection in the glass window ahead of him, all he could see was bright gold. 

“I built my lightsaber,” Scott retorted. “Master Talia said I’m a Jedi.” 

“Oh yes— your lightsaber.” Peter produced the weapon from the folds of his long robes, examining it. Scott noticed the long claws on every finger where his nails should be as he turned the lightsaber over in his hands. 

“It does look like Derek’s did,” Peter said, shrugging. “And— she gave you her crystal, didn’t she? I can sense her power on it.” He looked up from the lightsaber, gazing across the room. “My sister’s powers always had a distinctive…  _ scent _ to them.” Scott could feel his jaw hanging open at Peter’s statement. “Oh, yes. Talia was my older sister,” Peter continued conversationally. He shrugged again. “Well, we can’t all be Jedi.” 

Peter turned back to Scott, placing his lightsaber on the armrest of his throne, before leaning back in the chair casually. 

“I won’t fight you,” Scott told him. “And I’m not turning to the dark side.” 

“Maybe not yet,” Peter said. “But— once your friends walk into the trap I’ve laid for them, who’s to say what will happen then?”

Scott’s blood turned icy again, his stomach flipping. “What trap?” he almost whispered, his voice hoarse. 

Peter laughed again. “Come on. Did you really think Rebel spies just  _ happened  _ to learn the location of the Death Star? One of the most protected secrets within the Empire? I told them where it was. And now your friends on-world will die, and your fleet will be wiped out by ours. And I’ll have a new apprentice.” 

“No,” Scott retorted, his voice stronger. He could feel the anger flowing through his veins, and he knew he shouldn’t tap into that power— that was exactly what Peter wanted. Still, he couldn’t completely let go of his rage. “You’re not touching my friends,” Scott said. “I won’t let you.” 

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes underneath his hood, Scott was sure. “Come on, Scott,” he said, exasperated. “Don’t you ever get sick of being so unconditionally heroic? Why  _ save  _ everyone when you could just have  _ power?” _

“I’ll take people over power any day,” Scott replied, turning back to the Emperor. Scott’s lightsaber sat next to him, just  _ laying _ there on the armrest, and it would be so easy to use the Force, summon it into his hand and fight back. Fight off this monster who was threatening his friends. 

Peter smiled sadistically, but blood was still pounding in Scott’s ears. “I can feel your anger, Scott,” Peter said quietly. “Good. Give in to that. Take your lightsaber, strike me down. I can’t fight back. I’m defenseless.” 

Scott knew, rationally, Peter was far from defenseless— he had claws and fangs, not to mention control of the Force. But Scott was tempted— this monster was threatening his friends, threatening the  _ galaxy;  _ he was the cause of all the suffering and pain and tyranny that had affected every single planet in this galaxy for the past twenty five years. His heart was racing, his fists clenched, trying to quell the anger coursing through him, but yet— it would be so easy. He could do it.  _ Easily. _

“Take it, Scott,” Peter taunted. “Complete your training and learn from me how to use  _ all _ of your powers.” 

At Peter’s words, Scott thought of Melissa. Of Talia. Of Lydia and Stiles and Allison, on the planet below him. They believed in him, they knew he was better than this. That he would find another way. Scott took a deep breath, focusing on calming his heart rate, tamping down the anger running through him. There had to be another way. He would save his friends and his mother, and then the galaxy. 

“No,” Scott said, his eyes dangerous. “I will never join you.” 

The Emperor shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.” He turned away from Scott, towards Vader, who had been standing silently the entire time. “Vader? Kill him.” 

Vader took slow steps towards Scott, her own lightsaber held in her gloved hand. Scott stood his ground, determined to conceal the fear he was feeling. 

“You won’t kill me,” Scott said, his voice low. “You didn’t kill me on Bespin. I know you won’t here.” He paused. “I can still feel the good in you, Mom.” 

Vader paused. “There is no good in me, Scott,” she replied back, her voice slightly strangled, and she ignited the blade of her lightsaber.

Scott didn’t really believe that Vader would swing her blade until it was soaring towards him, and Scott quickly summoned his own, igniting it and bringing  it up to block Vader’s strike, the red and green blades clashing together and setting off sparks. 

“ _ Perfect _ ,” Peter murmured as Vader swept his blade aside, trying to knock Scott down again, Scott catching her swing quickly. His heartbeat sped up, adrenaline rushing through his veins, as he and Vader fought. Scott tried to keep down his anger, his frustration— he had to save his mother, then get out of here, warn his friends about the trap they were surely walking into— but Vader fought back ferociously, Scott continuously darting backwards to avoid her blade. 

To the side of them, Peter chuckled darkly, watching the battle in front of him unfold. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this story even have a posting schedule any more?? Who knows??? 
> 
> Enjoy!

The woods were quiet as they silently marched through, Lydia’s ewok friend leading the party. Birds called from the trees above, leaves crinkled softly underfoot, and the sunshine streamed through the thick branches overhead again, bathing everything in warm light. This planet— or moon, Stiles guessed— was undeniably beautiful, so quiet and at peace. Looking at the furry little creature in front of him, Stiles could only think how it was sad that the war had managed to invade even the most remote places, infiltrate the lives of beings that probably didn’t even know what the Galactic Empire was— though Stiles supposed, that was what they were fighting for. The chance for everyone in this galaxy to live their lives peacefully and as they pleased, instead of being controlled by their current oppressive dictatorship.

“Right here,” Lydia whispered, gesturing to the bunker ahead. Stiles stopped, Allison pausing beside him as well, as the rest of the troops came to a halt, following their general’s lead. Artoo beeped quietly, and Stiles peered out from behind the brush— the droid was right, there were a handful of guards here too.

“I guess it would have been too optimistic to hope that this secret back door was unguarded,” Stiles admitted, and Lydia shrugged.

“Five’s not that many,” she commented. “There are ten of us. We’ve taken out more Stormtroopers with less soldiers before.”

“I’m not sure that’s a terribly good idea,” Stiles vaguely heard Threepio say, but Lydia started speaking again, and he tuned the droid out.

“Surprise attack is probably best,” she said, and Stiles nodded.

“Chewie and I can go up from behind, catch them off guard,” he said. The wookiee whuffed in agreement.

“I can take out the stragglers from here,” Allison said, hand resting on her blaster. “By the time those two on the outskirts are down, Stiles will already be behind the other three. They won’t see him coming at all.”

“Be careful,” Lydia insisted, turning towards her boyfriend. “You can’t let them hear you; it’ll ruin the plan.”

“Don’t worry, Lydia, I was planning on banging pots and pans as I came up behind them.”

Lydia rolled her eyebrows, smirking prettily at him in a way that made Stiles’s heart thud, but they were interrupted by the protocol droid.

“Princess,” Threepio started, his head turning anxiously towards the bunker. “I’m… I’m afraid our furry companion has done something rather rash.”

“What?” Lydia hissed, her head whipping towards the clearing. Sure enough, her little ewok friend was sneaking through the treeline, closer and closer to the guards.

“There goes our surprise attack,” Stiles lamented, shaking his head. Now he was going to have to watch the little fuzzball get shot too? There was nothing they could do now without revealing themselves and all getting captured, though, so they stayed quiet.

The ewok crept to the line of speeder bikes parked on the outskirts of the clearing, clambering onto one. His short legs didn’t even remotely reach the pedals, but he twisted the clutch, and the speeder roared to life.

“Hey!” One of the stormtroopers called, but the ewok had already sped off into the forest. Four of the other stormtroopers scrambled onto their speeders, chasing the ewok into the woods. The one without a bike stayed behind, still halted by the door.

“Okay, I may have underestimated your friend,” Stiles admitted, looking at Lydia. “There’s only one left.”

Lydia nodded in agreement. “Allison, can you get him from here?”

The other girl squinted, eyes trained on the lone Stormtrooper. “I don’t think so,” she said, dejected. “There’s too much foliage. I can’t get a clean shot, and I don’t want to risk missing. Then he’ll know we’re here and could call for backup before we get down there.”

“Okay,” Lydia said, nodding. “Then we’ll sneak around the edge of the clearing, take him out quickly, and get inside.” She turned to the squad behind her. “Isaac, take half of the troops and circle around to the other side of the clearing. If the Stormtroopers come back while we’re inside, take them out before they know what’s going on.”

“Got it,” Isaac said, giving her a nod before taking half of the squad and sneaking into the trees.

Lydia, Stiles, Allison and Chewie lead the other half, skirting around the treeline, pausing when they were only a few meters behind the trooper, still hidden in the trees. Allison raised her blaster, lined up her shot, and fired, the trooper falling to the ground hard.

“Let’s go!” Lydia hissed, motioning the troops forward. “You five, stand guard out here, and pick off anyone who tries to run for command; the rest with me!”

They raced to the bunker, Stiles pounding on the control panel to let them inside. The heavy doors slid open, and he darted in behind Lydia, Allison, and Chewie. The hallway to the control room was short and direct, and the looks on the faces of the Imperial officers when they burst in was priceless. Stiles might have laughed, if he wasn’t half afraid of getting shot.

“Move,” Stiles commanded, pointing his blaster directly at the tech officer in front of him. The man quickly stood up, his hands raised to his head. The only other officer moved with him, standing in the corner, Chewie growling menacingly at them. “Lydia, we don’t have much time,” he said, surveying his girlfriend, who was messing with controls on the control panel. Allison’s eyes darted between the two of them, her blaster held ready as she stood by the doorway.

“I know, Stiles,” she said, her voice only slightly aggravated. “Let me think.”

Stiles nodded in agreement, allowing Lydia silence to think. Her hands whirred over the controls, trying to figure out how to disable the shields.

“Come on,” she muttered, slamming one of the control buttons down. “Work!” Lydia growled in aggravation, and Stiles left his spot, walking to examine the controls with her. He had barely gotten to take in the confusing control panel before the sound of boots echoed down the hallway.

“Guys!” Allison cried in alarm, turning to point her blaster at the troops, but it was too late— more stormtroopers than they could count were flooding into the control room, blasters raised. At the front of the crowd was an Imperial officer in a slick gray uniform, his gun pointed right at Lydia. Stiles raised his arm to shield her slightly.

“Freeze, you Rebel scum!” the officer commanded, his voice laced with disgust.

Lydia looked outraged, her jaw dropping. “ _We're_ scum?” she demanded, incredulous. “You're condoning the galaxy-wide oppression of trillions of sentient beings, and enslaving or punishing anyone who doesn't think the same way as the corrupt Emperor.”

Stiles could tell by the look on his face that the commander had only understood about half of what she'd said.

“We serve our Emperor proudly,” the commander retorted. “We do what is necessary to keep peace in the galaxy.”

“You're _killing_ people,” Stiles cut in. “To _death_.”

“Enough,” the commander barked. He turned to his Stormtroopers. “Take them outside.”

There was no point in fighting, really— they were vastly outnumbered and outgunned. Stiles grudgingly let the Stormtroopers grab his arms, wrestling his blaster from his hands. They did the same to Lydia and Allison, pushing the two of them ahead, towards the bunker’s entrance. Stiles shared a glance with Lydia, and he could see, even behind her steely expression— being captured again was still her worst nightmare. He tried to reassure her with just his eyes, nodding at her reassuringly, and she exhaled, eyes trained on his. _I know,_ he could practically hear her say. _I trust you._

Now they just needed to come up with a way to get out of this mess.

***

Danny took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Despite how jittery he felt, his hands were steady on the controls of the Falcon. Stars, he had missed this ship. In the past year that he and Chewbacca had flown it around, it had begun to feel like home.

Now he was risking everything he’d ever known, flying it into the middle of an Imperial war zone with the intent of blowing up the second Death Star.

“You alright?” Ethan asked from the copilot’s seat. Danny nodded his head, surveying the Imperial defector pilot and steeling his nerves. They would be fine. The Empire had no idea they were coming, and even if they did, Ethan knew enough of their tactical air battle plans that they could escape unscathed.

“I’m good,” Danny insisted, glancing out the cockpit window and surveying the rest of the Rebel fleet around them.

“You boys ready?” Admiral Finstock’s voice crackled over the comms, and Danny nodded. “Yes, Admiral. This is General Mahealani, standing by.”

“Gold leader, standing by,” another voice came from the comms.

“Black leader, standing by.”

“Blue leader, standing by.”

“We’re ready, then,” Finstock concluded. “Before we make the jump to hyperspace, I’d just like to say something.”

Ethan sighed in the chair next to Danny, and Danny shot him a look. “What?”

Ethan shook his head. “Listen. You’ll see.” Ethan had been with the Rebellion much longer than Danny, so he took the other man’s word for it.

“As you know, today aircraft from here will join others from around the galaxy,” Finstock’s voice spoke. “And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in this history of sentient-kind.”

Danny’s jaw fell slack. “What is he—”

Ethan shook his head. “Just wait.”

“Sentient-kind—  that word should have new meaning for us all today. We can’t be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests.”

“What is he _talking_ about?” Danny demanded. Sure, this seemed to have some pertinence to their mission, but the Admiral seemed to be a little _too_ overdramatic. And as far as Danny knew, Finstock was never this well spoken—  he generally spewed sarcastic remarks and insults that didn’t really make any sense. This was far too eloquent for him.

“He does this every time we fly a mission,” Ethan supplied. “It’s a speech in some old holofilm that he loves.”

“You will once again be fighting for our freedom, not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution—  but from annihilation,” Finstock continued gravely.

“I’m pretty sure we are fighting against tyranny and oppression,” Danny muttered. Ethan laughed.

“We’re fighting for our right to live, to exist.” Danny could almost laugh at the serious tone of the Admiral’s voice. “And should we win, this day will be known as the day when the galaxy declared in one voice: We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive!” The admiral paused, and Danny could barely contain his laughter. Now that he knew what the Admiral was doing, this seemed downright comical. “Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!”

Whoops and applause from the other pilots sounded over the comms, and Danny smiled, clapping as well. If he was going to die, at least he’d go out laughing.

“Ready to enter hyperspace, at your command, Admiral,” Danny said over comms, still grinning at their ridiculous mission leader.

“Let’s go, then,” Finstock replied. “On my mark. And may the Force be with us.”

At the word, Danny hit the buttons, easing the ship into hyperspace, barrelling along at the speed of light. The stars stretched to streaks of white, racing past the windows. Their rendezvous point hadn’t been far from Endor at all, so it would take them only a couple of minutes to arrive at their destination.

Soon they were there, and Danny eased them back out of hyperspace, the stars shrinking to their normal length and the small green moon appearing before them. And there, hovering in its orbit, was the half finished Death Star. All cold gray durasteel, skeletal floors still stretching out from the unfinished parts— it was terrifying to look at, especially so up close. Scott, Isaac, and Harley had been the only three to survive the mission against the first one, but Danny could hardly imagine, a quickly-thrown together squadron of X-Wings racing to take down _this_ thing—  it must have been terrifying.

“Fall in position, Gold Squadron,” Danny commanded his troops, soaring ahead towards the horrific space station. He squinted at the Death Star, trying to distinguish whether or not the shield was still up, but he couldn’t tell. “There’s gotta be some way to see if that thing’s still protected,” Danny muttered, turning on comms again. “Admiral, can we get any reading on that shield?”

“We’re not getting any readings,” Finstock replied. Ethan nodded in agreement.

“Nothing here either,” Ethan confirmed. “They’re blocking our transmissions. We’ll just have to assume it’s down.”

“Yeah— wait a minute,” Danny said, his brow furrowing. “They’re blocking our transmissions?” Ethan nodded silently. “How would they know to do that?” Danny questioned. “Unless—” his blood turned icy. “Unless they know we’re coming.” Immediately he flicked on comms again, speaking to his squadron, trying to keep the panic in his tone muted. “Pull up now,” he ordered. “The shields are still up!”

As if on cue, three massive star destroyers appeared from around the dark side of the moon, looming ominously behind the Death Star. Danny’s stomach dropped. The Empire had forces waiting for them to blow them to smithereens, and they had just practically handed themselves over. Planning for a surprise attack, they hadn’t brought any heavy artillery— no big warships, no Hammerhead Corvettes, just three squadrons of X-Wings and Y-wings, a medical frigate, and the Admiral’s flagship.

“Pull back!” Finstock exclaimed. “It’s a trap!”

“Everyone fall back!” Danny repeated, deftly steering the Falcon back towards the rest of the fleet. “Defend the medical brigade. Hold off until that shield goes down, and try not to get killed!”

Ethan sighed next to him, speaking through his comms to the gunner in the turret below. “Get ready for a battle,” he told the soldier. “We may be here longer than anticipated.”

Danny sighed. Of course, nothing could ever be easy. He should have known that the moment Stiles showed up on his doorstep and dragged him headfirst into this mess of a Rebellion.

***

Everything about this lightsaber fight felt _wrong_.

Scott and Vader chased each other in circles for what seemed like an eternity, jabbing and blocking and parrying and twisting under each other’s blades— they were making no progress, fighting for the sake of fighting, and Scott could feel his anger building up, being pulled around up here like the Emperor’s puppet while his friends died below him.

Vader’s mechanical breath was growing labored, and even Scott was getting exhausted, physically and mentally. Vader had him cornered now; Scott’s back was against the wall, and Vader’s blade came swinging down, poised to catch him in the shoulder— Scott blocked, remembered that one move Talia has shown him, and slid the clashed blades down, scorching Vader’s mechanical hand and disarming her. Scott scooped up the other lightsaber, pointing his own at Vader’s throat, his blood pounding in his ears. Maybe there _was_ no good left in her. Scott had been fighting to save his mother, but this woman in front of him— this was still the woman who had destroyed Lydia’s planet, killed thousands. Maybe there was no saving her.

“Mmm, good, Scott,” the Emperor murmured from behind them. Peter paused, surveying the two of them. “Now kill her.”

Vader made no move, still stoic and silent, and Scott’s blade quivered at her throat. It would be easy. He could do it right now, in a matter of seconds. The darkness that always blurred his vision a little bit when he used his powers too long creeped into his mind, painting a picture of Vader laying dead, the Emperor Scott’s next target. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the haze. The Emperor was messing with his mind. He was a powerful Sith wolf. Scott didn’t want vengeance. That wasn’t the Jedi way.

“No,” Scott said, dropping his blade, turning the lightsaber off. He turned away from Vader, towards Peter. “I won’t. I’m not your puppet. I’m not falling to the dark side.”

“Not even to spare your friends?” Peter asked, and Scott’s temper flared at the mock surprise in Peter’s voice. This man was almost as good at using words as using the Force to control reactions.

“What are you talking about?” Scott demanded. Lydia, Stiles, and Allison were okay; he could feel their presence in the Force still, below him on Endor. And they were smart— they’d make it out safe. Allison knew how the Empire worked, and Stiles and Lydia were the ones who always figured it out.

“Look,” Peter said, his voice gleeful, gesturing to the expansive windows behind him. “Your friends are here.” Sure enough, the Rebel fleet was pulling out of hyperspace. Peter laughed darkly. “Don’t worry, so are mine.”

As if on cue, a fleet of Star Destroyers appeared from the other side of Endor. Scott felt dread fill his gut as the blaster fire began, bolts of red and green light illuminating the inky black expanse of space. TIE fighters zoomed out from the Star Destroyers, wreaking havoc on the squadrons of X-Wings. Scott could see the Falcon zipping between ships, trying to eliminate enemy vessels, while X-Wings went up in flames.

“Stop it,” Scott almost growled, anger turning his vision slightly red. “You’re slaughtering them!”

“I know, that’s the _point,”_ Peter responded. Scott took a step away from the window, unable to look, but Peter clucked his tongue.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” he said, waving his hand. Something fell from the ceiling, surrounding Scott in a perfect circle of dark, inky powder. Scott tilted his head in confusion at the substance— it almost glittered in the lights from the window— he’d never seen this before. He tried to step over the border, but immediately something forced him back, pushed him into the center of the ring. It was like he’d walked into something that was ray-shielded.

“Mountain ash,” Peter said, as if that were an explanation. “It specializes in keeping supernatural creatures out— or in. You can’t cross it. So you’re stuck here.”

“You’re killing innocent people,” Scott said, his eyes pained as he looked at Peter. Up closer, Scott could just barely see his dark eyes under the shadows of his hood.

“You’re acting like you didn’t kill plenty of innocent people when you blew up the first Death Star, Scott,” Peter spat back. “How many civilians did the Rebellion kill in their little demonstration? How are you any better than us?”

“Because we’re fighting for something good!” Scott retorted. “Because we want the galaxy to be a better place. Where everyone is free and has rights and doesn’t have to live in constant fear! Because I grew up like that! Terrified every day that Stormtroopers would show up on our doorstep and drag us away.” Scott’s heart was pounding again, anger bubbling in his veins. _“No one_ should have to feel like that. That’s why we’re different. Because we’re fighting for what’s _right_.”

“Well, you’re not going to stop anyone from in there,” Peter said, shrugging. “And based on the ships that you took to face off against my Star Destroyers?” Peter laughed.

“We’re tougher than we look,” Scott snarled. Peter laughed again, cold and merciless.

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

Another X-Wing went up in flames, random parts drifting into never-ending space. Scott felt his temper flare— they were being _murdered_ out there, literally and figuratively— his pulse raced, and he wished he could _do_ something. He had to get out of here, go help his friends. He still needed to save his mother. He needed to save _everyone._

Scott turned from the window, pushing fruitlessly against the invisible barrier keeping him inside the small circle of mountain ash. The force field shone, pushing him back into the center.

“You can’t get out, Scott,” Peter sighed, his voice almost tired. “It’s impossible. Your friends are going to die, and the Rebellion is going to be crushed, and that’s going to be your fault. Because you could have joined me,” the Emperor sneered. “But instead you had to be _noble._ And because of that— their blood’s on your hands. Their deaths are going to be your fault.”

 _“No,”_ Scott moaned, sinking to his knees, gripping his head in his hands. “You’re slaughtering them just to spite _me?_ Don’t you— don’t you care at _all?_ They’re _innocent!”_

 _“No,_ I don’t care,” Peter retorted. _“Obviously._ I’m a _Sith wolf.”_ He paused. “And the only way they’ll live is if you become one too. You become my apprentice, and I’ll call off the fleet.”

“I won’t turn,” Scott repeated, but his brain betrayed him, hissing in Peter’s voice: _They’re all going to die because of you. Stiles and Lydia and Allison and Danny and Chewie and everyone will be dead, because you thought you could fight a war and come out victorious. Everyone would be better off if you had stayed on that dusty farm on Tatooine._

“Are you sure, Scott?” Peter asked. “Because your mother told me the same thing, but she turned too. You can’t _help_ it. It’s in your blood. Wolves are not supposed to be creatures of the light. Why do you think I’m so much more powerful than you? Why did my coward sister hide for twenty years if she wasn’t scared of facing me again and losing?” He paused, his smile malicious, and Scott felt like his limbs were getting heavier, his heart aching, his lungs squeezing, “This is what you are,” Peter insisted. “Embrace the darkness in you. It’s the only way you’ll be able to save your friends.”

“Mom,” Scott begged, turning towards Vader, who stood stoically to the side, her breath still ragged. “Please. Stop him. Spare the fleet. I can smell your confliction. I know you want to.”

“Scott—” Vader began, almost quiet, her voice hoarse, but Peter cut her off.

“She won’t help you, Scott. She is one with the dark side. There’s no changing that,” he snarled.

“Please,” Scott whispered again, Peter’s malicious voice still whispering in his ear, twisting his thoughts and filling him with despair, hopelessness, and guilt. So much guilt. _Their deaths are your fault,_ his mind hissed, and Scott looked back to the window, the air battle, the hundreds of TIE fighters and the remains of the battered rebel fleet. _Your fault. You can’t save them, and you can’t save your mom. You can’t help anyone. You should have just left them all alone._

“Please,” Scott begged, guilt seeping through his body, weighing him down. He’d do anything. Anything, just to stop the massacre right outside.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday everyone! Here's a new chapter for ya. 
> 
> I think there are only four more after this? That's crazy. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! As always, I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter and I'd love to know what you think!

Nerves twisted in Lydia’s stomach as the Imperial troops shoved them outside. 

Realistically, she knew that she had been in worse situations than this, that her life was more in danger every time she faced off with a Stormtrooper, or had a blaster pointed at her head. Death didn’t scare her anymore. She had seen too much of it, was too war-hardened to be irrationally afraid of something that was more than likely to happen to her before the galaxy was free anyway. Lydia fought tooth and nail to survive, but she wasn’t afraid to die. 

It was the alternative that scared her— being taken prisoner again. She would rather die right now than be forced back into a metal cell, tortured, starved, emotionally and physically exhausted, so sure that the end was in sight but still so far away from escape. Stranded, stuck, pinned down and in pain. The feel of binders on her wrists made her more shaky than the muzzle of a blaster against her temple. 

Stiles could tell she was on edge, and he couldn’t take her hand, because of the troopers, but his shoulder rested comfortably against his. Allison was on the other side of her, their elbows brushing, and the feeling of the two of them next to her helped keep her grounded. They anchored her to the real world. And if Stiles could speak right now, she knew what his words would be:  _ We’ll get out of this _ . 

She hoped he was right. 

The rebel troops they had left outside with Isaac were rounded up as well, surrounded by stormtroopers. Realization dawned on Lydia as she saw the full battalion of forces waiting for them— the Empire had known they were coming. Between the hundred or so stormtroopers, the assortment of AT-ST walkers, the speedbikes— this was way too many troops to protect a bunker on an unknown, practically uninhabited moon, where the only natives were small furry creatures who seemed to want absolutely nothing to do with the Empire. Her stomach sank as Lydia realized— she had led her troops right into a trap. And if this was how many troops they had put on the ground to deal with ten rebels, she didn’t even want to consider how many star destroyers were waiting for the rebel fleet in space. If they didn’t get this shield down, the rebellion would die today instead of the Empire. 

This was riding on her. The whole rebellion was counting on her plan. 

The Imperial commander strolled over to them, surveying the three of them casually, hands folded in front of his neat gray suit. His eyes paused on Allison, his slight grin stretching menacingly, and beside her, Lydia could feel her best friend tense. 

“Allison Argent?” the commander said, tone light. “Well, it’s certainly been a long time since I’ve seen  _ you.  _ Tell me, what does your family think of your betrayal of our Empire?” 

“I don’t care what they think,” Allison spit, teeth gritting. “They’re not my family anymore.” 

The commander laughed, glancing briefly down at his shiny black boots, a stark contrast against the earthy forest floor. “Well, maybe the more appropriate question is what does the  _ Rebellion  _ think of all you’ve done for us?” 

“That’s not who I am anymore,” Allison said, tone steely. “I protect those who cannot protect themselves.” 

“Well that’s very noble,” the commander said, almost laughing. “Now, those weapons you helped create while you were with the Academy, though—”

“Oh my god, dude, we get it,” Stiles said, making that face he always aimed at people when he was exceptionally exasperated. “She used to work for you guys. We don’t care. I used to sell drugs to warlords, okay? Please just stop talking.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes again. “I would literally rather get shot than have to listen to you keep talking.” 

The commander laughed, and Lydia looked up at Stiles, a silent conversation passing through looks. He nodded at her,  _ ever  _ so slightly, and the commander, distracted, didn’t even notice. Lydia bit her lip, nodding her head smally and deliberately. He looked away from her, continuing to act casual. The stormtroopers holding them clearly didn’t see them as a very big threat now that they were outside, because the one holding Lydia’s forearm had loosened his grip considerably. Lydia took that as her cue. Yanking her arm out of his grasp, she jammed her elbow back, slamming it into his chest plate and knocking him backwards. Caught off guard, he stumbled, his arms flailing, and Lydia grabbed both her blaster and his blaster from his hands, kicking him in the chest to keep him on the forest floor. She turned sharply, coming face to face with the Imperial commander, pointing her blaster straight at his head, her expression fierce, her lips curled in an almost snarl. 

The commander seemed unfazed. Lydia kept her gaze locked on him, though she could see that every other trooper in the clearing had their blaster pointed at her. Stiles’s gaze was directly on Lydia, his expression dangerous, his body straining against the Stormtrooper holding him. 

“Hold your fire,” the commander said conversationally, never taking his gaze off Lydia. “Lord Vader will want this one alive.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles snarled, voice low and dark, and the commander chuckled. 

“Well, I never imagined that they would send  _ you  _ down here,” he laughed, his tone condescending. “Little Princess Lydia of Alderaan.” He paused. “Can you even call yourself that anymore? Seeing as it’s your fault your planet was destroyed?” 

Lydia snarled, her grip tightening on the blaster. He could taunt her all he liked, but she wasn’t going to back down. “You don’t scare me,” she informed him, her tone dark. 

He laughed again. “But I  _ should  _ scare you. Seriously, this is the best that the Rebellion has to offer?” He looked around, surveying the few soldiers that they had brought. “A princess, a smuggler, a family disgrace, a wookiee, and a bunch of other ragtag misfits?” He raised his eyebrows at Lydia, smirking. “You’re completely outnumbered. You shouldn’t have come alone.” 

Lydia held his gaze, raising her eyebrows in challenge. Sure, there was a full battalion of Imperial troops, and maybe ten rebels,  but that still shouldn't have given him the confidence to look as cocky as he did now. 

Stiles smirked dangerously. “Who said we came alone?” 

Around the perimeter of the clearing, hundreds of ewoks jumped out of every hiding place imaginable. 

Lydia barely stuck around to see the complete look of terror on the commander's face before they darted for the bunker. 

“Stiles!” Lydia called, tossing him the stormtrooper’s blaster. He grabbed it, twisting out of the grip of the trooper holding him, shooting down another trooper headed for them. Allison had knocked out the stormtrooper holding her as well, and she snatched up his blaster, picking off troopers with ease, Isaac right next to her, working to free the rest of their squad. Lydia briefly glanced over to her troops. The ewoks had taken all the imperials by such surprise that her soldiers had easily broken free, reclaiming their weapons and shooting down stormtroopers with deadly accuracy. 

“Cover us!” Lydia shouted to Isaac, who nodded in response. “Keep them as far away from the bunker as possible!” 

She and Stiles raced back to the door alcove. Allison remained in the heat of the fight; having acquired another blaster somehow, she kept the incoming fire away from Stiles and Lydia as they ducked into cover from the thick walls.  Momentarily safe, Lydia surveyed the scene before them, and if they hadn’t been in such a life or death situation, she might have laughed. Anyone who thought the ewoks were cute and cuddly would seriously have to reconsider after  _ this  _ display. 

The Endor natives were ruthless, skewering stormtroopers with their spears, bashing them with rocks and large sticks, shooting them down with slingshots and bows and arrows. Already, almost a quarter of the stormtroopers were lying on the forest floor, motionless. 

“Key code’s changed,” Stiles informed Lydia, turning away from the control panel behind them that would open the door. 

“Kest,” Lydia swore, picking off a stormtrooper that had Beth cornered. The trooper fell at her feet, and she shot a thankful look to Lydia before turning around and engaging with another imperial. “We need Artoo,” she told Stiles, as he reached over her shoulder with his blaster, shooting down an approaching stormtrooper. 

“Yo, Goldenrod!” Stiles shouted across the clearing, to where the droids were hiding in the treeline. “Get over here, and bring Artoo!” 

“We might hold our own against the troops, but those walkers are going to be a problem,” Lydia said to Stiles, nodding towards the fifteen-foot high metal machine-guns-on-legs, practically. They weren’t as bad as the AT-ATs they’d come in contact with on Hoth— those were more heavily armored, taller, and deadlier, but these still posed an imminent threat, and there were at least ten of them. 

“Maybe not for long,” Stiles said, pointing to one in the woods. Through the trees, they could see it fall, crumple into a smoking heap, and it took Lydia a moment to realize what had caused it— there was a thick rope tied between two trees, at the perfect height to function as a trip line for the walker. She shrugged. 

“Those ewoks are pretty lethal,” she commented, and Stiles laughed, before turning his attention back to Threepio and Artoo, shuffling through the battle towards the door. 

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” he cried as the pair ducked through blaster fire, and Allison shot down a trooper that looked like he was thinking of taking the two droids down, following behind them.

“Quick,” Stiles instructed Artoo, stepping aside so the astromech had access to the control panel. “We need the bunker door open.” Artoo beeped in response, connecting to the computer port and starting to override the system. 

“What happened to the key code?” Allison asked, turning briefly towards Lydia in between shots. 

“They changed it,” she muttered, one eye on the battle in front of her, the other on Artoo as he worked.

Vaguely, Lydia recognized Threepio saying something dramatic, Stiles snarking back in response, but she stood frozen on the spot suddenly, a cold, draining feeling washing over her. She stumbled back slightly, lowering her gun. All her limbs felt like lead, her mind was numb, and she shivered slightly, her vision and hearing going fuzzy. She didn’t move until something was physically forcing her backwards, and dimly, she realized it was Stiles, shielding her with his body, one hand protectively on her arm, the other raised, his blaster firing. “Lydia!” he said, turning and looking right at her, his eyes terrified and concerned, and finally, Lydia could think again. 

“Are you okay?” he demanded, surveying her, his hand running up and down her arm. “You just almost got shot.”

“I…” she trailed off, because she still felt that strange, cold presence, and it felt like something was choking her, sucking the air out of her lungs. “I don’t know,” she continued, looking right at Stiles. “I feel…”

“You feel what?” he asked, his face still all soft with concern. “Lydia, what?” 

“I feel like I’m standing in a graveyard,” she whispered, and the look that Stiles gave her in return— she must look crazy right now. 

As quick as it had come on, the feeling faded, and Lydia shook her head, still slightly foggy. Stiles was still looking at her, his brow furrowed, concern etched through his features. 

“Come on, Artoo,” Allison muttered, and the astromech beeped, still fiddling with the controls. Stiles and Lydia turned back to the droid, just as a blaster bolt soared right between their two bodies, hitting Artoo directly and sending him flying backwards. 

“Artoo!” Lydia yelped, watching in horror as the droid vibrated with the electricity, a mechanical scream echoing from him, before he went silent, his lights shutting off as well. 

“Oh, Artoo!” Threepio lamented, shuffling towards his counterpart. “Why did you have to be so brave?” 

“What do we do now about the door?” Stiles insisted, not focusing on the astromech. He could be fixed easily back on base, but there wouldn’t be a base unless they could get inside and blow this thing up. 

“I don’t know, Stiles!” Lydia said helplessly. That cold, dead feeling was still lurking on the edge of her mind, making her head swim a little bit. “You’re the one who always figures it out!” 

“I guess I could hotwire it,” he said, shrugging, before ripping off the control panel and pulling the wires behind out. “Cover me?” he asked, and Lydia nodded, raising her blaster. 

“Always,” she told him, and he grinned softly, before turning back to the mess of wires in front of him. 

Lydia systematically picked off stormtroopers, defending her soldiers and the ewoks, while watching the battle go on. The number of stormtroopers was seriously dwindling— the biggest threat was the heavily enforced walkers, shooting massive blaster bolts into the middle of the battle. As she watched, though, she saw once again how resourceful the ewoks were— one walker fell down, tripped by rolling logs, another crumpled under the weight of two huge rocks that had been slingshotted at them, another crushed completely in the middle from two swinging logs, let loose from the trees— the Imperial troops were falling, slowly but surely. They might actually  _ do  _ this. 

“I’m going to help take out those walkers,” Allison said, gesturing towards where Chewie was trying to shoot the AT-STs down with more heavy artillery. Lydia nodded, watching as her friend darted across the battleground, her blaster still raised to cover Stiles as he worked. 

“I think I got it!” Stiles yelped, connecting two wires, and Lydia turned in excitement, watching as the thick outer door, which had already been open, slid closed over the inner door they had been trying to open. Stiles dropped the wires, sighing, shaking his head in defeat.  _ “Seriously?” _ he grumbled, and Lydia wanted to laugh at him, but now didn’t really seem like the time. 

Still looking at Stiles, Lydia was shocked when suddenly her shoulder exploded in violent, raw pain. 

“Lydia!” Stiles yelped, forgetting the control panel and grabbing her, one hand gently caressing her shoulder. She looked down, and saw blood, a gash through the sleeve of her shirt, a shallow, charred graze across her skin. She had gotten clipped with a blaster bolt. 

Wincing, she let Stiles ease her to the ground, sitting in the corner of the alcove, mostly shielded from the waning battle behind them. He peeled back her torn shirt sleeve, examining the blaster bolt graze, his fingers slick with her blood. “It’s fine,” she assured him— sure, it hurt like hell, but she’d survived worse. She’d live. 

“You’re not fine,” Stiles insisted, eyes still trained on the wound, and Lydia briefly registered the imperials’ cry of “retreat!” in the background, grimacing as Stiles examined her injury. 

“Freeze!” they heard behind them, and Stiles stopped short, his hands still on Lydia's forearm. 

“Drop your weapons,” came the voice of a stormtrooper behind them. Lydia sunk back into the corner farther. She knew, between the bulk of the door and Stiles's body shielding hers, they could barely see her. Stiles slowly lowered his blaster to the ground, his eyes still on Lydia. 

She gave him a little grin and shifted her injured arm to the side, revealing her blaster, still in its holster. Stiles broke out into a huge grin. 

“I love you,” he said, plain and simply, less like a declaration and more like a fact, like he'd  _ always _ loved her, and there never was a time where he wouldn't. He was giving her that  _ look _ again, like she'd hung the stars in the galaxy, and despite the fact that they were about to be captured and they could all very well die in the imminent future, Lydia grinned. She'd always known it was true— since that week in the med center after Ord Mantell, since that first kiss on the Falcon, she had known he loved her, had heard the words he hadn’t yet said to her, but still— she just loved hearing him say it out loud, like it was no big deal, just a facet of him. 

“I know,” she told him, a smirk on her face. He just laughed at her. 

“Hands in the air!” the stormtrooper ordered, and Stiles, still kneeling in front of Lydia, slowly raised his hands up next to his head, her blood still on his fingertips. Lydia waited a moment, her blaster in hand, before leaning around the corner. Stiles jumped to the side, and she shot the trooper square in the chest. 

Stiles stayed frozen in the same position, slightly to the side of Lydia, his hands still by his head, while Lydia took out the remaining two stormtroopers quicker than lightning. When they all were lying motionless on the forest floor, Stiles gingerly pulled Lydia to her feet, being careful of her arm. 

She, however, had no time for his gentleness. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him down so he was on her level, before kissing him. 

They pulled away a second later, and Stiles was giving her that lopsided grin. “What was that for?” he asked, his eyes lost in hers. 

“Nothing,” Lydia said. “I just like hearing you say you love me.” 

Stiles smirked at her, their noses still brushing. “Well, I will gladly tell you whenever you want,” he said softly. “Because I do.  _ Stars, _ I love you.” 

She grinned and leaned in to kiss him again, but stopped dead, because there was an AT-ST behind them. “Stiles,” she whispered, nodding her head to the walker. 

He turned around, his arms still around her, looking up at the Imperial walker.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. They were done for. 

Then the hatch was pushed open, and a very familiar furry head popped out. 

“Chewie!” Stiles exclaimed, grinning widely.  ”Oh, thank the stars.” 

Chewie howled back at them, Allison popping out of the hatch next to him. Lydia broke away from Stiles, laughing. Her eyes lit up at the sight of their friends, a plan coming together in her mind.

“I have a plan,” she told her boyfriend, detailing her idea to him in hushed tones. 

Stiles tried not to grin, giving her that look like he thought she was the most brilliant being in the galaxy. She could feel a blush creep over her cheeks, just barely, still a little taken aback by the amount of emotion he managed to fit into his eyes.

“Lydia, you're so smart, I could kiss you right now,” he told her,  his mouth quirked in the smallest smile, full of awe. 

“Do not kiss me,” she said, exasperated. “We have to get moving. We don't have much time.”

“Alright, not gonna,” he said, bouncing on his toes, like he was waging a war inside his mind. 

She rolled her eyes, guessing what he was going to do before he even did it. He tilted his head to the side, before swooping in and smooching her cheek. 

“Ha! Did it anyway!” he cried brazenly, before scrambling over to the AT-ST. With his back turned to Lydia, he missed the small, affectionate grin that bloomed on her face. 

Scaling the side of the walker, Stiles was met by a grumbling Chewie at the top. “Lydia has a plan,” Stiles explained to the wookiee. “Is the officer still inside?” 

“Yep,” Allison responded, hauling herself out of the hatch, perching on the edge. Stiles nodded, lowering himself  through the hatch and into the AT-ST. “Stay up there!” he called, grabbing the dead commander’s helmet and pulling it down low over his brow. Sitting in the control seat, he took a deep breath, before turning on the video comms. The screen immediately lit up, showing the inside of the bunker, the remaining troops still inside. 

“What’s going on out there?” an Imperial officer demanded, glaring at Stiles. He lowered his head in the screen, so that only his eyes and his helmet were visible to the officer. 

“We’re completely overrun,” Stiles said, putting on his best Imperial voice, imitating a clipped Coruscanti accent. “The natives are wreaking havoc. Send out everyone you still have.”

“Right away,” the officer confirmed, nodding at Stiles. The video connection cut off, and Stiles immediately stood, ripping the helmet from his head and chucking it aside. It landed in the corner of the small control center, and his eyes followed it, resting on the crate of thermal detonators shoved in the corner. Stiles’s eyes lit up, a manic smile crossing his face. “Perfect,” he muttered, grabbing the crate. 

“What’s perfect?” Allison asked, her head poking through the hatch. Stiles grinned at her as Chewbacca lowered his head to Stiles’s level too. 

“Why disable the thing when we can just blow it up?” he asked her, shoving the crate of bombs into Chewie’s paws. “When given the choice, always go for blowing it up.” 

When the rest of the Imperial troops rushed out of the bunker a minute later, it didn’t take them long to realize they’d been set up. Faced by rebel troops, a forest full of vicious teddy bears, and a commandeered Imperial walker manned by an angry wookiee, they were quick to surrender their weapons. 

“Tie them all up,” Lydia instructed her troops. “Stiles, Allison, Isaac, Evelyn, Henry— with me. Grab bombs.” 

They plastered the inside of the bunker with the bombs, lining the control rooms and the shield generator rooms, before darting out, taking cover in the forest. The bunker exploded in a fiery shower of red and orange, bold and bright against the cloudless blue sky. Lydia looked to the sky, where the Death Star was still looming, cold and gray next to the warm light from the sun, and Stiles knew exactly what she was thinking— it was all up to the fleet now. 

Some of the troops hauled off the Imperial prisoners, and Lydia thanked the chief of the ewoks, before the native creatures returned to the forest, disappearing into the thick vegetation. She walked back over to Stiles and Allison, a grim, determined smile on her face. They had done it, thanks to her. Now they just needed the fleet to come through. Stiles shuddered at the thought of what they must be facing up there— if the number of troops on the ground was how they dealt with ten rebel foot-soldiers, how many Star Destroyers were waiting for the fleet? But those pilots were some of the best he’d ever met, and Danny had the Falcon— they’d be okay. He hoped. 

Lydia swung her arms slightly, wincing as her shoulder moved. In the excitement of the battle, he’d completely forgotten she’d been shot. Not that she would have let him do anything about it while they were fighting, but still. 

“Let me look at your arm,” he insisted, and he could just see, she was going to shrug him off and insist she was fine again. Before she could even open her mouth, Stiles shook his head. “Our job’s done. We’ve got nothing to do but wait.  _ Please, _ let me see it.” 

_ “Fine,” _ she sighed, sitting down on a fallen log to the side of them. Stiles sat next to her, pulling out bandages and bacta cream from the supply kit they’d brought. She rolled her shirtsleeve up, and Stiles winced at the bloody, charred scrape across her arm. Kriff, a little more to the right and it would have caught her right in the shoulder— a little more, it would have gone right through her chest.

“Stop worrying, Stiles,” she said gently, as though she could hear what he was thinking. “It’s over. I’m fine.” 

“I know,” he replied, meeting her eyes. “I just… the thought of what if—” he shook his head. He didn’t even have to  _ think  _ about what if— the memory of her lying on the ramp of the Falcon, bleeding out before his very eyes— that was an image that still haunted him to this day. His gaze lingered on the pinkish scar a little lower on her shoulder, images from that awful day flashing before him, like they were burned into his retinas. 

Lydia gave him a little smile, her eyes so full of light and love, and Stiles just squeezed her hand. She was here. She was fine, and she was  _ alive _ . That was all that mattered. 

“Do you think it needs stitches?” Stiles asked, turning to Allison. Lydia rolled her eyes, scoffing at his suggestion, as if they were being way too dramatic. 

“It looks pretty deep, for a blaster clip,” Allison said, taking the first aid kit Stiles was offering her. She plucked out a needle, threading it deftly, hands steady. “I think it’s probably a good idea.” 

“Is this seriously necessary?” Lydia asked, teeth gritted. Stiles had forgotten her aversion to needles, and immediately took her hand, squeezing it. 

“I don’t want it to get infected, Lydia,” Allison said. “We have no idea what state the medical frigate’s in up there. It could be a long time before we make it back to a real med center. Better safe than sorry.” 

“Focus on me, okay?” he said, voice gentle. “Just listen to my voice.” 

“I’ll be quick, Lydia,” Allison promised. “You won’t even feel it. Hey,” she said, and Lydia turned towards Allison, eyes still a little too panicky. “You can trust me.” 

“I know,” Lydia said, nodding smally. She turned back to Stiles, eyes locking on his, squeezing his hand like a vise as Allison cleaned the wound on her shoulder preemptively. 

“Distract me,” she instructed, and Stiles could see the panic building in her eyes, so he did what he was best at— babbled spastically. 

“Well, we just won a battle,” Stiles began, not sure what else to say. “We won a battle against an entire Imperial company because of a bunch of vicious teddy bears.” Lydia winced as Allison began stitching, her entire body going stiff. “Seriously, first they try to eat  _ me,  _ then they take out Imperial walkers with tree trunks? Those things are insane.” Lydia smiled, slightly, and Stiles grinned back, squeezing her hand again, thumb running over the back of it. “Um, and we exploded the bunker, so the shields around the Death Star are down now. Hopefully Danny and the troops are alright up there,” he continued. “I swear on the stars, if he gets the Falcon back here and it has a  _ single  _ scratch on it—”

“Like you’d notice a new scratch on it,” Allison interjected, grinning as she continued to stitch up Lydia’s arm. 

“I would  _ too,”  _ Stiles insisted, brow furrowing. 

“I think it might be a  _ little _ hypocritical for you to threaten Danny against banging up your ship,” Lydia cut in, managing a small smile, “as he informed me it used to be a high-end  _ luxury  _ ship before you flew it too close to a black hole and almost  _ destroyed  _ it.” 

Stiles shrugged, squinting a little, thinking back to that fated mission  _ years  _ ago that got him into the whole smuggling business. “I mean, yeah, I  _ did  _ fly it really close to the Maw,” he admitted. “But I also completed the Kessel run in twelve parsecs.  _ Twelve,  _ Lyds.” 

“It’s very impressive,” she conceded, giving him a bemused grin, although the fear in her eyes still lingered. 

“Now hopefully they’ll put my ship to use and blow the Death Star to smithereens,” Stiles added, squeezing Lydia’s hand. 

“Not yet,” Lydia said, shaking her head, teeth gritted. “Scott is still up there.” 

Stiles didn’t miss how Allison went bright red at the mention of Scott. He grinned, remembering something else from last night. 

“That reminds me,” Stiles said, eyes still locked on Lydia. “Allison kissed Scott last night.” 

_ “Stiles,”  _ Allison hissed, looking up from her stitching, rolling her eyes, but Stiles just grinned, still looking at Lydia. 

“I saw them out on the bridge last night, right after I walked you back to our treehouse, Lydia.” Allison just shook her head, tying off the stitches. 

“All done,” Allison said, and Lydia visibly relaxed. “And technically, he kissed me.” 

“About time,” Lydia muttered, and Allison blushed again, shaking her head good-naturedly. 

Stiles glanced up at the Death Star above them anxiously, thinking of his best friend up there, facing off with Darth Vader and the Emperor. “Scott better get off there soon,” he mumbled. Scott could handle himself, and Stiles was sure he would win in the end, but it wouldn’t do him much good if the space station was exploded while he was still on it. 

“He's okay,” Lydia said. “I can feel it. He's still alive.” 

Stiles looked down at her, their eyes meeting. Hers were full of certainty. 

“What about Danny?” Stiles asked. Lydia's brow furrowed. 

“I don't know,” she admitted. “I still don't really know how to control this. I'm not good at picking up random people on command. But with Scott— I can always feel him.” 

“Why is that?” Allison asked, tone curious. “Why are you so connected to him, specifically?” 

Lydia gave her friend a pointed look, smirking at her. “No need to be jealous, Allison,” Lydia assured her. “Scott’s like my brother.” She hesitated, glancing up at the Death Star again. “He  _ is  _ my brother.” 

“Wait a minute,” Stiles said, confused at his girlfriend’s words. “What do you mean,  _ is  _ your brother?”

“He didn’t tell you last night?” Lydia asked, expression quizzical. Stiles shook his head, hands flailing a little bit.

“I didn’t  _ talk  _ to him last night,” Stiles said. “Not after dinner, anyways. He took off while I was still trying to calm you down.” 

“Oh,” Lydia said, voice growing small at the mention of her breakdown last night. Stiles  _ still  _ didn’t know what had made her so upset— it was eating away at him, horrible after horrible possibility racing through his mind, but if Lydia didn’t want to talk about it, then they wouldn't talk about it. He would wait until she was ready to tell him what had broken her like that. 

“Unimportant,” Stiles pushed on, shaking his head. “Is Scott seriously your  _ brother?”  _

“Yes,” Lydia said, nodding her head, laughing a little at Stiles’s expression. “Talia told him when he went back to Dagobah— we're twins.” 

Stiles was pretty sure his jaw hit the forest floor. 

“How in the nine Corellian hells is that  _ possible?”  _ Stiles demanded, brain whirring. Lydia just laughed again. 

“How did you not know that?” Allison asked, brow furrowed, staring at her friend with a bewildered expression. 

Lydia shrugged. “We were separated at birth, I guess. Scott still doesn’t have all the answers.”

Stiles shook his head again, trying to let that information sink in. His best friend and his girlfriend were  _ siblings.  _ Twins, at that. That was… a  _ supremely  _ weird realization. 

“Okay, well, this is good news,” Stiles said, meeting Lydia’s eyes again. “I’m dating you, and you’re Scott’s sister. Does that make Scott my brother-in-law?” 

Lydia laughed, rolling her eyes fondly. “We’re not legally married, so no.”

“Dammit,” Stiles muttered, mocking disappointment. “Well.  _ One  _ day, he will be.” 

Lydia smiled, smaller, more private this time, and he could feel his heart speed up at that look in her eyes: soft and pure and  _ bursting  _ with love. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead she froze, smile sliding off her face, her skin as white as the snowbanks of Hoth and her eyes wide and horrified. 

“What?” Stiles asked, cupping her face and stroking her cheek. Her skin was icy cold. “Lydia, what's wrong?” 

“Scott,” she whispered, barely audible. “Oh my gods, Scott—” She looked frantically between Stiles and Allison, her wide green eyes filled with terror. “We need to go. We need to be up there.  _ Now.”  _

“Wait,  _ what?” _ Stiles asked, shaking his head in confusion. “Up where? The  _ Death Star?” _

“Yes,” Lydia breathed, standing up, nodding her head decisively. “We have to go down to the landing pads, steal a shuttle—” 

“Lydia,” Stiles said, grabbing her arm gently. “What— what are you  _ talking  _ about? The fleet is gonna blow that thing to pieces any minute.” 

“No,” she insisted, her eyes determined. “The Imperial fleet will be blocking them. We need to get to Scott now. He’s— something terrible’s happening.” Her eyes were pleading, her expression deadly serious. “Please believe me, Stiles. Something is wrong. He needs us.” 

As much as he wanted to stay on the ground, keep Lydia safe, he knew she was never wrong about these things. And he also knew that he couldn’t give up on his best friend, if he really was in danger. He looked over at Allison, who nodded immediately, her mind also made up. “Okay,” he said, taking Lydia’s hand, grabbing his blaster from the forest floor and slipping it into its holster. “Let’s go save Scott.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters left, guys!! That's slightly terrifying to me. I've been working on this fic for two years, and it's ALMOST DONE. Wow. 
> 
> Regardless, this is one of my favorite chapters of this story, so I hope you like it! I'd love to hear what you think of it; I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you ever want to talk! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Based on Danny’s calculations, the rebels had exited hyperspace maybe fifteen minutes ago, and already half of the fleet was gone.

X-Wings burned up, parts drifted through the dark expanse of space, more than half of his comm lines remained dead or staticky. Danny felt slightly nauseous— this was his first full battle in the Rebellion, and the absolute disregard for sentient life— on both sides— made him want to throw up.

“Watch it, Gold Five, there’s a TIE on your tail!” Danny barked into comms, swerving to the left so that his gunner could shoot at the Imperial fighter. Danny had forgotten the kid’s name, but he was clearly a good shot— the TIE went up in flames, the wreckage crashing into another Imperial ship behind it.

“General, any reading on that shield?” Ethan asked. Finstock’s voice crackled back over them commlink.

“Yeah… one second… yes! It’s down!” The general barked. “Lydia did it!”

Danny almost sighed in relief, but instead, swerved violently as an enormous bolt of green light shot straight for the Falcon. “Was that…?” he asked Ethan immediately, noticing his copilot looked a little pale. Ethan nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Danny.

“That came from the Death Star.”

“We almost got shot by the Death Star!” Danny hollered into comms, alerting everyone in the fleet. “That thing’s operational!”

“Black squadron, blue squadron, fall back, defend the flagship,” Admiral Finstock barked. “Gold Squadron— follow General Mahealani. Rush the Death Star, and take that thing down.” He paused. “And Greenberg— just stay out of the way.”

“It’s gonna be hard to find an opening,” Danny responded. There were hundreds of TIE fighters up here, not to mention the Star Destroyers.

“Fighting a Rebellion is hard, cupcake,” Finstock retorted. “And those Star Destroyers aren’t firing. They just want to keep us in place. Find an opening, and blow that thing to smithereens. Preferably without dying in the process.”

Danny took a deep breath, sharing a look with Ethan. The other soldier nodded. “Okay,” Danny said into the comms. “Gold squadron, follow my lead.” He exhaled, hoping upon all hopes that they were able to pull this off somehow. “Let’s go destroy this thing.”

***

Stiles still wasn’t even sure how they made it to the throne room without incident.

The landing pads on Endor were deserted, all the troops gone to fight the battle that the rebels had just won, and they had no problem sneaking on a shuttle and piloting it up into space. As they approached the Death Star, weaving through star destroyers and TIE fighters and rebel ships, no one asked for clearance codes or identification numbers. The second the shuttle touched down in the Death Star’s empty hangar, the three of them were out of the ship, on the ground.

The Death Star itself was a mess of organized chaos; in the aftermath of the shields being disabled, pilots rushed to TIE fighters, commanders ran through the hallways, droids beeping with messages they carried wove underneath all the foot traffic.  Even now, Stiles could see that there were significantly less people here than there had been on the first Death Star anyway, probably because this one was still under construction.

Either no one recognized them or no one cared, because Stiles, Lydia, and Allison didn’t even bother to steal uniforms or try to disguise themselves— the only thing that mattered was getting to Scott. Lydia was still pale as a ghost, skin icy cold, and while she didn’t think he was dead, she knew something was wrong. Stiles certainly wasn’t one to doubt her intuitions.

It wasn’t until they were bursting out of the lift, running into the Emperor’s dark, cavernous throne room, that Stiles even gave thought to what they were walking into.

“Well, took you long enough,” a voice taunted, cool and cruel, and Stiles felt his blood freeze at the sight in front of him. Lydia turned to stone, her skin ashen, because there, at the front of the room, silhouetted against the expansive glass windows showcasing the aerial battle, was Darth Vader. She ( _she,_ Stiles reminded himself, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Vader was a woman, after years of assumption) stood statue-like, completely immobile— the only way to tell she was real was the ragged, mechanical breathing filtering from her mask, and the blinking lights on the front of her suit. Stiles took Lydia’s hand, squeezing it tightly, trying to assure her that he was here, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

Stiles then turned his attention to the voice that had addressed them, and his blood got even chillier, shivers racing down his spine.

The man in the large, curved throne could only be the Emperor, shrouded in both shadow and a long, dark cloak, only his cruel smile visible beneath. Stiles started when he realized that the Emperor had fangs, longer and sharper looking than Scott’s.

“Stars, I tell the commanders to let you up here, and it _still_ took you this long?” the Emperor asked rhetorically, tilting his head towards the three of them. “Maybe I was wrong about how smart you were, Lydia. For one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy— other than me, obviously— I figured it would have taken much less time for you to come running to your brother’s aid.”

“Brother?” Vader hissed, her voice sounding much more labored than the last time Stiles had heard her speak. “The Princess and Scott are siblings?”

“Oh, yes,” Peter said conversationally, turning back towards Vader. “Really? You didn’t know that? You had her captive on your first Death Star a whole week. Where did you _think_ her power was coming from?” Peter shook his head. “Your powers seem to be fading, Vader. Good thing we’ve got _her_ now.”

“You do _not_ have me,” Lydia spat, stepping forward boldly, one hand gripping Stiles’s, the other firmly holding her blaster. Allison stepped forward too, crossbow still in hand. “And you’re wrong, anyway. I’m not like you and Scott.”

 _“Really?”_ Peter asked again, and Stiles could only describe his voice as genuinely shocked. “Not even Talia knew? It— it’s _obvious,_ isn’t it? You really have no idea what you are,” he mused. “The wailing woman— a banshee, right before us.” Lydia tensed, squeezing Stiles’s hand tighter. “The rarest creatures in the whole _galaxy,”_ Peter continued, his tone casual, like he was teaching a class. “Every few hundred generations one will pop up again. You didn’t— I can’t believe you never figured it out. That’s why you feel every single person’s death. That’s why you can tell if your friends are alive. You’re a supernatural beacon of death.” He grinned again, baring his sharp canines. “And that’s why you and Scott will make the best apprentices.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Lydia spat. “And if you think Scott is turning—”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Peter murmured, nodding at Vader, who stepped aside. With a swish of her cape, Scott became visible behind her, and Stiles’s stomach dropped at the sight of his best friend.

Scott was frozen right next to the windows, the lights from the aerial battle illuminating the huge glass panes behind him in eerie red light. His expression was heartbreaking, his face twisted with despair, hopelessness, guilt— his eyes were so full of sorrow, it looked like he’d lost the will to live. Scott didn’t look at Stiles or Lydia or Allison; he either hadn’t heard their approach or didn’t care, his gaze fixed on his lightsaber, held loosely in his hand, unignited. A circle of inky black powder surrounded him, and although it appeared harmless, Stiles got the sense it was trapping him, both literally inside the space and also inside his head.

“Scott,” Allison breathed, and the pain in her voice echoed the pain on Scott’s face. His eyes flicked up to the three of them, briefly, and Stiles’s heart pounded, looking at them. He knew what Scott’s eyes looked like when he wolfed out, and this was like that, but wrong, somehow. His irises were still bright gold, but flecks of black ran through them, and his whole eyes were reddish, like he was holding back tears. Stiles could immediately see how something had felt so completely wrong to Lydia— something was clearly messing with Scott’s head.

“You can’t help him,” the Emperor said casually. “He’s realized what he is. He comes from the dark side, and nothing you do will make him sway from it.”

“Scott, this isn’t you,” Lydia said, taking a step forward, and Stiles could feel her racing heartbeat underneath his palm, his hand protectively on her back— being this close to Vader was really scaring her, for good reason. Still, she stepped closer to Scott. The Emperor seemed to pay them no mind, which Stiles thought was weird.

“You can try to talk him down, but it won’t work,” Peter told them. “Don’t worry, Lydia, it’s your turn next to realize what you really are. A creature of the dark.”

“Maybe I am,” she said defiantly, turning to the Emperor. “I don’t know what my powers do. I don’t know how to control them. I just have voices in my head and dreams about lava planets that I’ve never been to.” Next to Stiles, Allison almost jumped at Vader’s sharp intake of breath, but Lydia continued, eyes fiery, turning back to Scott. “Maybe I am a supernatural creature that’s rooted in darkness. But I don’t care. Because I am fighting this war, and I am going to make sure that this galaxy sees a day where people don’t have to live in a constant state of fear. I’m going to do good with my life. And if it ends here, or in fifty years, regardless— I’m going to spend every second fighting for what I believe in. And it doesn’t _matter_ where I come from. It doesn’t matter what side my powers stem from. I don’t care. I’m going to make a difference. And Scott—” her voice broke, looking at her brother with heartbroken eyes. “I know you are too. You already have. It doesn’t matter to me, or to the Rebellion, or to Derek and Talia if your powers come from her.” She nodded to Vader, who stepped forward, but Lydia kept talking. “Come on, Scott,” she pleaded. “This isn’t who you are.”

Scott looked up from the lightsaber in his hand, his eyes locking on Lydia’s, still conflicted and full of pain. “Maybe it is,” Scott whispered, his voice strangled and broken and so _not_ like Scott it made Stiles’s heart break. “This is my fault,” he continued. “The fleet is dying. There’s no hope.”

Stiles gulped, stepping closer to Scott, his hand dropping from Lydia’s back and grasping her hand tightly. Allison walked forward, hesitantly approaching the boundary of Scott’s prison, her eyes beyond heartbroken. “What do you mean there’s no hope?” she asked, her breath hitching. Stiles didn’t miss the little smile across her face, the grin that looked more pleading than joyful and that didn’t quite reach her sorrowful eyes. “There’s always hope.”

“Not now,” Scott said, his eyes flicking to Allison. “Not for the fleet. They’re being slaughtered out there.”

“We knew it was going to be a hard fight, Scotty,” Stiles interjected. “It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe it is,” Scott said, shaking his head. “This is all a trap so that _I_ would come here, so Peter could get me.” The Emperor shrugged, his grin practically spelling out “guilty as charged.”

“Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse,” Scott continued, his voice breaking again. “Every mission, every battle, people just keep getting hurt. People keep dying.” His eyes burned into Stiles’s, so full of anguish that Stiles wanted nothing more than to grab his friend and reassure him that this wasn’t his fault; hold him close until he stopped doubting himself. Take him somewhere Peter couldn’t sink his claws into him.

“This isn’t you,  Scott,” Stiles insisted, repeating Lydia’s sentiment. “This is Peter, in your head, twisting your thoughts and manipulating you. You know that none of that is your fault.”

“Ever since I joined the Rebellion, everyone I know has died,” Scott said. “Derek, Talia. Half of the fleet. Ever since I brought those droids off of Tatooine. I should have just stayed there, where I couldn’t hurt anyone. You saw me,” Scott said, looking at Stiles. “I was just some stupid farm boy. I didn’t have an X Wing. I didn’t have a blaster. I didn’t even know I had _powers._ I was _nothing.”_ Scott’s eyes dropped down to the lightsaber in his palm again. “Now I’m never going to be anything other than a werewolf who can’t resist the pull of the dark side. The galaxy doesn’t need that.” He paused. “Maybe I should just be nothing again.”

Scott’s eyes flitted back to the windows, his gaze trained on the devastating battle outside, and Stiles’s breath seized, his heart jumping. He couldn’t lose Scott— not like this.

“Scott, just listen to me, okay?” Stiles pleaded, taking another step closer to the circle of ash on the floor. Scott’s heartbroken eyes met Stiles’s, the black swirls still running through his normally bright-gold irises.

“You’re not nothing,” Stiles told him. “Okay? You’re something,” Stiles exhaled, trying to steady his tone. Peter looked alarmed suddenly, like this was not how he had anticipated this going.

“Scott, you’re my best friend,” Stiles said, and he could feel tears pooling in his eyes, the heartbroken look on Scott’s face growing more shattered. “And I’ve never had best friends before, except for Chewie.” He paused. “I— no one has ever been there for me, accepted me, wanted me around, cared about me _unconditionally,_ even when I’m a pain in the ass, like you do. Scott, you’re not just my best friend—” Stiles could feel the tears running down his cheeks now, fast and hot. “You’re my _brother.”_ He inhaled again, trying to steady his shaking voice. “And I don’t care where you think your powers come from, or if Peter has you convinced that you’re inherently bad, or some other bantha shit—” He broke off, Scott’s eyes fixed on his, tears in them as well. “It’s not true,” Stiles continued. “You are the _best_ person I know. You literally _always_ think of others before yourself, and all you want to do is help people. And I don’t know a lot about the Force, but I do know that sure as hell isn’t what a Sith Wolf does.”

“I can feel the darkness, Stiles,” Scott said, his voice like a plea. “I can see it there. What if this is what I’m supposed to become?”

“It’s not,” Stiles insisted, his voice certain. “Even if the darkness is there— it doesn’t matter, Scott. _You_ choose who you want to be. And I know this isn’t it.”

“If I turn, he’ll call off the star destroyers,” Scott almost whispered. “I— I don’t know what else to do.”

“Not this, Scott,” Stiles insisted, tears tracking down his face still. “We’ll find a way. But it’s not this.”

“Okay,” Scott said, his voice wavering, almost a whisper, and he squeezed his eyes together, the pooled tears running down his face.

When he opened his eyes again, they were bright, pure gold.

Peter stood from his throne, his mouth curled in a snarl, his face still invisible in the shadows. “What did you _do?”_ he demanded, and before they could react, Vader was moving, stalking towards them, her lightsaber held in her hand.

“Stay away from her,” Stiles snarled, grabbing his blaster from its holster and pushing Lydia behind him, away from Vader. She was acting brave, but he could feel her shaking. Allison raised her crossbow as well, her shoulder bumping against her best friend’s, adding an extra layer of defense.

“Or what?” Vader mocked, stepping closer towards the two of them. Stiles held his blaster steady, pointed right at Vader's head.

“If you harm one perfect strawberry blonde hair on her head, I'm gonna turn your little werewolf ass into a fur coat and give it to her as a birthday present.”

Vader almost laughed. “I can stop any blaster bolt you try to fire at me,” she said. “So that weapon doesn’t scare me.” She swished her cape, taking another step closer to them.

“What's with the cape, anyway?” Stiles demanded. His blaster might be useless here, but he still had his sarcasm. “It's like sixty-five degrees in here.”

“Are those your last words?” Vader mocked, igniting her lightsaber.

Stiles barely had a second to actually be afraid before Scott’s voice echoed, “No!”

Vader stepped aside, momentarily forgetting Stiles, watching instead as Scott braced both his hands up against the invisible barrier separating him from the rest of the chamber. The barrier shone blue where Scott pushed against it, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Peter sighed. “We’ve been over this, Scott; you can’t get through a barrier of mountain ash. Not even _I_ can do that.” Scott ignored this, continuing to push up against the barrier. “But of course, keep trying,” Peter snarked. “I could use some quality entertainment.”

“Come on, Scotty,” Stiles muttered, watching his best friend struggle.

And then, just like that, Scott’s foot crossed the border.

“What?” Peter hissed, as Scott continued to fight the invisible field, his mouth pulled in a scowl of concentration, his eyes squeezed shut, his muscles straining with the magnitude of effort he was putting forward. His other foot shuffled halfway across the line, and Scott opened his eyes, staring directly at Stiles, Lydia, and Allison, Vader still frozen to the side. Scott took another small step, and Stiles watched, in wonder, as the golden glow of his wolf eyes faded, grew darker and richer, as the perfect circle of mountain ash on the floor scattered, breaking the barrier.

Scott lowered his arms and looked at his friends with eyes of bright, vivid red, rimmed in rings of pure gold.

“What?” Peter repeated, fists clenched, his body almost shaking with rage.

“It’s over, Peter,” Scott said, turning towards the Emperor. “You’re going to lose. I’m not turning. I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

“We’ll see,” Peter retorted, raising his hands and pulling down his hood, finally revealing his face.

Stiles almost yelped, Lydia and Allison tensing behind him. He could see why the Emperor kept his face hidden all the time— even as a feared dictator, it would be hard to get people to listen to you if you looked like that. Peter truly looked like the monster he was inside— his face was a permanent mix of human and wolf, with a snout-like nose, pointed ears, long sideburns, a mouth full of razor sharp teeth— his brow was heavier, more structured like a wolf’s, his skin the color of ash, his eyes as bright and red as Scott’s, but with pitch black rings around his irises.

“You want to be difficult?” Peter spat, reaching into his robes and pulling out a lightsaber of his own. “Then I’ll just kill you. I don’t care how powerful the color of your eyes says you are.”

“Come and try,” Scott retorted defiantly, powering up his lightsaber and lunging at Peter.

Stiles, Lydia, and Allison stood frozen, unsure what to do, as Scott and the Emperor fought. Their blades were a blur of light, red on green, moving too fast for Stiles to actually distinguish between the two. He wanted  to help, try to shoot Peter, or something (although killing the Emperor with a _blaster bolt_ seemed marginally too easy) but with how quickly the two were moving, Stiles would never be able to get a clean shot.

The two blades interlocked, Peter leaning over Scott, forcing the lightsabers closer to Scott, sparks flying from the clashing blades of light. Scott growled, loud and echoing, his eyes bright red and his sharp canines visible. Peter snarled right back, deftly maneuvering the two locked blades, scorching Scott’s mechanical hand and sending his lightsaber flying. Scott fell backwards, defenseless.

“You should have just joined me, Scott,” Peter lamented, dropping his lightsaber and instead raising his hand, electricity arcing from his clawed fingertips. Blinding bolts of what Stiles could only describe as lightning arched from Peter’s hand, striking Scott, making him writhe and cry out in pain.

“Scott!” all three of them yelped, Allison immediately rushing forward, Stiles and Lydia right behind her— but Peter glanced at the three of them, briefly pausing in his electrocution of Scott, and moved his other hand towards them, making a gesture that seemed like he was trying to shove them backwards. Stiles took one more step forward and crashed into an invisible wall; next to him, Lydia and Allison froze as well, struggling to move forward, as Peter was using the Force to hold them back.

“Kriffing— I _hate_ the Force,” Stiles muttered, trying to move and failing disastrously.

Scott cried out from the floor again, electricity arcing through his body, his face contorted in pain, and Stiles banged his fist against the invisible wall, trying to break through. But he wasn’t Scott, he didn’t have supernatural powers or inhuman strength— he was stuck.

“How many volts is that?” Stiles asked Lydia, his mind racing, trying to come up with a plan. “How long can he survive that?”

“It’s not voltage that kills you, it’s current,” Lydia responded, her voice equally flustered. “And I don’t know about werewolves, or— _force-lightning—_ but a normal human can withstand around 50 milliamps, and in a typical lightning bolt, there’s around a billion volts— it would depend on the internal resistance of his body, but—”

“So not long,” Allison surmised, struggling again against the barrier.

“No,” Lydia whispered. “Not long.”

“Fight back, Scott,” Stiles pleaded, his voice desperate. They’d already almost lost him once today.

“Come on, Scott, _please,”_ Allison begged. Scott moaned again, his body still writhing from the short bursts of lightning Peter was directing at him.

“No,” Vader mumbled, voice hoarse, next to them, and Stiles’s heart pounded as Vader stepped forward, assuming she was coming for them. Stiles didn’t have the Force, or whatever the hell, but he would go down fighting if it meant protecting Lydia. Vader didn’t walk towards them, however; she stalked towards the Emperor, her breathing still labored, and just as Peter looked up from Scott, his expression confused, Vader stepped in front of Peter, letting the electricity hit her instead of Scott.

Vader sank to her knees, her breathing growing more and more wheezy, the lights on the front of her suit shorting and flashing off in a display of sparks. Peter stopped the flow of electricity almost immediately, his focus breaking and the barrier holding back Stiles, Lydia, and Allison disappearing. But it gave Scott enough time to stand shakily, regaining his footing and summoning his lightsaber back to his hand.

It gave Stiles enough time to raise his blaster and shoot Peter right in the side.

Really, Stiles thought that a blaster bolt through his torso would do more than just irritate him, but Peter turned, unfazed, his face contorted in rage, stalking right towards Stiles and Lydia.

“No!” Scott yelped, rushing forward, but with a wave of his hand, Peter sent Scott sailing backwards, crashing into the floor next to an immobile Vader.

Stiles still held his blaster high, pointed right at Peter’s temple, and Allison followed suit, raising her crossbow. But the Emperor sneered at their weapons, sticking out his hand and using the Force to summon them towards him, leaving the two of them defenseless. Lydia doubled over next to Stiles, clutching at her ears, whimpering in pain.

“Lydia?!” Stiles yelped, momentarily forgetting about the very angry alpha sith lord stalking towards them.

“I— the voices,” Lydia gasped. “They won’t stop— it makes me want to _scream.”_

“No,” Peter hissed, freezing in his tracks, his expression suddenly very alarmed.

That gave Stiles all the confirmation he needed. “Okay, then scream,” he said, one hand on Lydia’s back. “Lydia, _scream!”_

Lydia straightened up, her eyes sliding shut, and let out the most horrible, bloodcurdling, ear-piercing scream that Stiles had ever heard in his life.

Scott doubled over, clutching at his ears, sinking to his knees again, and even Vader reacted, twitching on the floor. But Peter stood still, wavering on the spot, half of his skull blown completely off by the power of Lydia’s voice.

His body fell to the floor, blood oozing from the half of his skull that hadn’t been disintegrated by Lydia’s scream— or maybe that part was on the ground, or the wall on the other side of the room, propelled by the scream— regardless, Stiles wasn’t going to stick around and find out. That was the least of his concerns right now, because the Emperor was _definitely_ dead, and Lydia was unconscious next to him, her body crumpled on the ground.

Stiles immediately sank to his knees, one hand grasping one of hers, the other ever-so-gently brushing over her cheekbones, against her eyelashes— she wasn’t breathing, her eyelids didn’t flutter— oh, _kriff,_ had using that much power actually drained her so much that— she _wasn’t,_ she _couldn’t_ be dead—

“Lydia,” he gasped, smoothing his thumbs over her face, her skin so pale, lips slightly parted, no breath coming from between them. His heart hammered in his chest— she couldn’t die, he couldn’t lose her, not like this—

Stiles barely registered that Scott and Allison were next to him now, Scott with one hand on his sister’s arm, Allison hovering next to her best friend’s head. “Lydia, wake up,” Stiles pleaded, his voice almost a whisper. “No, no no no—Lydia, come on, wake up—”

“Stiles,” Scott whispered, “I can’t hear—”

“Don’t say it, Scott!” Stiles snapped, turning back to the girl in his arms, one finger brushing over her eyelashes, praying to any god listening that they would flutter. “Come on, Lydia, open your eyes,” he pleaded. “Come on, come on— listen to me, Lydia— show me your eyes.”

Stiles felt like he could vomit; stuck here, helpless, Lydia immobile in his arms, her pulse nonexistent. “Lydia, you have to open your eyes,” Stiles begged, whispering her name like a prayer. “Lydia—” Stiles looked up, meeting Scott’s eyes, his hands still tangled in Lydia’s messy braids— his best friend looked heartbroken, defeated, like he had heard Lydia’s lack of heartbeat and knew that she wasn’t coming back to them. Next to him, Allison sat frozen, her expression an indescribable mix of confusion and grief. Stiles felt tears welling in his eyes, his heart racing, the overwhelming, crushing feeling of a panic attack building— she couldn’t die, he couldn’t keep going without her, couldn’t think how he would never hear her laugh or see her smile or get to see the light shining on her hair, making it glow golden, ever again. She would never get to see the new galaxy she fought so hard for, gave everything for, because she was lying here, dead, in Stiles’s arms.

And then, she inhaled sharply, her chest rising with the sudden intake of breath.

Stiles almost laughed in relief, his eyes full of wonder as he looked down at the girl he loved, breathing and moving in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered, opening up to reveal those gorgeous green eyes, locked on Stiles’s and filled with so much love that he sighed, his body sagging with relief.

“Oh, thank the stars,” he murmured, running his thumb over her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice small and weak. “The Emperor?”

“Dead,” Stiles assured her. “You killed him, Lyds. You did it.” Her little smile was heartbreaking.

“Do you wanna sit up?” Stiles asked, and she nodded. Stiles locked eyes with Scott, who helped support her back, and they gently raised her up into a sitting position, her hand still squeezing Stiles’s tightly. He was fairly certain that he was never letting go, until she forcibly made him. Allison squeezed her other hand, a little grin tugging at her lips as she regarded her best friend.

“The fleet,” Lydia said suddenly, looking at the window past them; sure enough, what was left of the rebel fleet was gaining on the Death Star. They probably had a few minutes before the whole thing blew.

“We have to go,” Stiles said, squeezing Lydia’s hand, both he and Allison helping her to her feet. Across the room, Vader stirred slightly, her breathing even more labored than it had been before. And Stiles immediately knew what Scott was going to do.

“No, Scott,” Stiles begged, but his best friend turned to him, eyes wide and helpless.

“I have to try to save her,” Scott said. “She sacrificed herself to save me. And she’s my mother. I know there’s good in her.”

“We have to leave,” Stiles insisted. “The fleet is gonna blow this place to smithereens in _minutes._ We have to get out of here, _now.”_

“Go, then,” Scott said. “You three need to get to safety.”

“We are not leaving without you!” Stiles retorted. “You’re out of your kriffing mind if you think we’re leaving you up here.”

“I’m not leaving without her!” Scott insisted. “I’ll be right behind you. Please, go.”

“I’ll stay with Scott,” Allison offered, taking a step closer to him. “I’ll make sure he gets out.”

Stiles knew that Scott wasn’t going to budge on this, and the longer they stood here arguing, the less time Scott would have to save his mom and evacuate as well. And he trusted Allison to actually, forcibly remove Scott if necessary.

“Fine,” Stiles gave in. “But Scott, please don’t get yourself killed over this. If it comes to it, leave her and evacuate. You’re more important. Please?”

“I will,” Scott promised. “Now go.”

Stiles helped Lydia to the lift again, stepping in and pressing the button, leaving Scott and Allison alone with his mother. Hesitantly, he walked over to Vader, still lying on the ground. Allison hung back, lingering by the lift, allowing Scott this moment with his mother. Vader’s breath sounded so labored, every intake mechanical and wheezing.

“Mom,” Scott said, kneeling down and gently shaking her shoulder. “Come on, you’ve got to get up. We have to leave.”

“I can’t,” Vader wheezed, her voice so much weaker than Scott had ever heard. Her suit was beeping softly, probably shorted out by the electricity from the lightning. “Leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Scott told him. “I have to save you.”

“You… already have,” Vader managed, her breath labored. “Help me… take this mask off.”

Scott furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “No, you’ll die.”

“There’s no… stopping that,” Vader said. “I want to… see you through my own eyes… just once.”

Scott bowed his head, defeated. Finally, his mother returned to the light, and she was here, in Scott’s life— and she was dying. But Scott wasn’t about to deny his mom her last wish.

Slowly, he pulled off the domed part of Vader’s helmet, revealing just the front faceplate, circuits and electronics that were no longer working setting off little sparks from the edge of the mask. Scott gently pried it off, leaving his mother’s face fully exposed, showing the woman behind the mask, the Jedi that had been Jennifer Blake.

It was abundantly clear why Jennifer had needed that mask to breathe— her skin was ashen, clammy, covered in burn scars and old, mottled injuries, her breath even more labored, her eyes a little unfocused. But Scott saw the black rings that indicated a Sith wolf— they were gone. Instead was silver, pure and bright as Derek’s.

“My son,” Jennifer managed. “I spent… so long looking for you. And when I found you…” She paused, breathing shallow. “I’m… so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Scott said, blinking back the tears in his eyes. “You saved me. You returned to the light. We saved the galaxy.”

“You saved the galaxy,” Jennifer insisted. “Tell Lydia… I’m sorry. And Derek… that he was right.”

“I will,” Scott promised. “Mom—” But Jennifer sighed, her eyes sliding closed, and her breathing stopped.

Scott took a shaky breath, looking down at his mother, letting the silence wash over him.

“Scott,” came a voice, soft, hesitant, and he turned, finding Allison hovering, approaching slowly. “I know this is…” she said, voice uncertain. “But we have to go.”

No sooner had she said those words that alarms began to blare, echoing through the empty throne room.

“Sith,” Scott muttered, meeting her eyes. “The fleet.” Looking down at his mother’s body again— he couldn’t just _leave_ her here— he picked her up, staggering a little under the weight, and rushed after Allison for the lift.

He’d promised Lydia and Stiles— he was getting off this thing alive, and he intended to keep that promise.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, sorry for the impromptu disappearance again, guys. School has been kicking my butt. Summer semesters are no fun. 0/10 would not recommend. 
> 
> Anyways, hopefully I can get the last two chapters edited and up soon! Enjoy!

Lydia was reasonably convinced that her sigh of relief when Scott and Allison finally appeared in the hangar was loud enough that Admiral Finstock could hear her from his flagship through the vacuum of space. Her alleviation at seeing her brother and best friend alive was enough for her to momentarily disregard the fact that Scott was carrying Darth Vader. She would worry about that later, she decided— for now, they had to get off this Death Star. 

“I told you not to wait!” Scott told them, short of breath as he raced up to the ramp. 

“Like hell we were leaving you alone on this thing,” Stiles said. “Come on, we need to leave  _ now.” _

The second Scott and Allison’s feet were on the loading ramp, Stiles hit the button to lift it up, he himself racing to the cockpit. Lydia felt the engines revving below her as the shuttle lifted off the hangar floor. Scott stumbled under Vader’s weight, before gently lowering her to the floor. Her body laid limp, and it was more unnerving to see her here, strewn on the ground like a ragdoll, than to hear her mechanical breath, her inhuman voice echoing in her ears. 

“Is she…” Lydia trailed off, half scared to hear the answer. Scott bowed his head, nodding. 

“Yeah, she’s… gone.” 

Scott clearly was upset, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she was sorry. This woman had tortured thousands, killed more, caused unbelievable pain and grief in the galaxy. She might have been her mother, but Lydia wasn’t sorry she was dead. 

“Come on,” she whispered instead, stretching her arm out, offering her hand to Scott. He took hers in his, squeezing it gratefully. Allison came up on his other side, and he smiled at her, softly and fondly, in a manner that reminded Lydia of the way Stiles looked at  _ her.  _ She grinned slightly at her best friend and her brother, before she tugged Scott out of the cargo hold, up to the cockpit, where Stiles was flicking switches and mumbling under his breath, piloting the shuttle out of the Death Star hangar and out into the battle beyond. 

“How fast can this ship go?” Lydia asked, her eyes following the fleet of X-Wings racing overhead, headed straight for the Death Star’s reactor core. One hit and the whole thing would go up in flames. 

“Uh, hopefully fast enough,” Stiles said, steering them away from a TIE fighter. Lydia was fairly certain these shuttles didn’t have any shields or guns. 

“Look,” Scott breathed, and Lydia glanced upwards, spotting the Millennium Falcon soaring above them, faster than any other ship in the fleet, directly for the Death Star. 

“If Danny’s going in for the kill shot, we better get as far away as possible,” Allison said. 

“Can we head back to the surface?” Lydia asked. “The fleet doesn’t know it’s us in here.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, distracted by the sight of his ship, racing further and further away with every passing second. “She better come back to me in mint condition.” 

“Stiles, no offense, but I don’t think the Falcon has ever seen mint condition,” Scott quipped. Stiles grumbled, shooting his friend a look. 

“Can we banter later?” Lydia cut in. “Our lives are kind of currently at stake?” 

“Do you not trust my piloting skills?” Stiles said, fully turning around, forgetting about the controls and giving her a look of such indignation that she felt like she might scream again. 

“Stiles, fly this kriffing ship or I’m never speaking to you again.” 

He immediately turned back around. “Okay, we’re flying. Hold on, everyone.” 

The shuttle soared back towards Endor, the leafy green canopy becoming clearer and clearer the closer they got. Just as they were about to enter the atmosphere, something hit the ship, rocking them violently and almost making Lydia fall over. 

The four of them whipped around, searching out the side windows for the source of the shockwave, and saw the Death Star explode in an enormous burst of fire, brilliant colors lighting up the remainder of the Rebel Fleet, the Millennium Falcon silhouetted against the bright explosion. 

Lydia felt like she could cry tears of joy. The Death Star was destroyed. The Emperor was dead. A good part of the Imperial fleet had been destroyed by the rebellion fighters and the explosion from the space station. 

Stiles took Lydia’s hand, pausing the shuttle in its descent and interlacing his fingers with hers. He looked up at her, smile hopeful, whiskey eyes lighter and more carefree than she had seen them in a long time. Next to them, Scott wrapped his arms around Allison, her best friend resting her head on his chest, eyes trained out the window and a smile playing at her lips. 

Stiles smirked at Lydia, his mouth tugging to the side adorably, and she squeezed his hand. 

“We might just win this war after all,” he whispered, eyes locked on hers. 

For the first time in a while, Lydia could actually see his words being true. 

***

It was extremely hard to believe that it was only about eleven thirty in the morning— given the battle this morning and their adventures on the Death Star, Lydia felt like the peaceful morning she’d had high in the trees of the ewok village was a lifetime ago. 

The first thing they had all done upon returning to the moon’s surface was tell the rest of the landing party that the Death Star was destroyed, the Emperor was dead, and the battle was over for the moment. Immediately after, they’d all gone back to the ewoks’ village to take long, well deserved naps. 

Well, she and Stiles had napped eventually, Lydia mused, gently running her fingers over Stiles’s bare chest. This bed was too small, and the little emergency pack blanket hastily slung over them only came up to about their hips, but with the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the slatted logs of the treehouse walls, warming her bare back and making Stiles’s hair shine gold, his eyelashes casting patterns on his cheekbones— Lydia felt completely and utterly content. 

Except for the one thing nagging at the back of her mind— Vader. 

She knew Scott was holding a traditional Jedi Wolf funeral, or something— he’d told Lydia he was going to, to which she’d given him no response. She didn’t want to avoid Scott, but she also knew he really wanted to talk about Vader as their mother, redeem her from the Sith she had been, and Lydia wanted no part of that. She didn’t care if she was her mom. She was glad she was dead and she wasn’t forgiving her, no matter what Scott said or did. 

And she still had to tell Stiles about the whole— Vader thing. She hadn’t been able to tell him on the bridge, but she knew that she had to, because he deserved to know. Stiles hadn’t walked away from Vader unscathed— he’d been tortured endlessly just to get to Lydia, and Vader was the reason he’d lost a year of his life to carbonite. Telling Stiles that that was where she came from, that that person’s blood ran in her veins— she would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified. 

“Lyds,” Stiles murmured, blinking sleepily, running his hand over her back as he woke up. He instinctively pulled her in closer to his chest, her hair spilling over his shoulder, his skin warm against hers. “What’s up?” he asked, his eyes fully open, still a little glazed with sleep.  

Lydia buried her head in the crook of his neck, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to tell him, wanted more than anything to come clean, but that tiny, nagging part of her brain kept butting in— what if this changed things? What if Stiles knew where she came from, who she really was, and hightailed and left? It was a stupid fear, but still an ever present one. 

“Lydia,” he said, one hand sliding down the length of her arm, resting above her elbow, pulling back a little to look in her eyes. “You seem really nervous,” he pointed out, eyes concerned. “Are you okay? Is this about what happened on the bridge?” 

She nodded slowly, biting her lip, anxiety gnawing at her insides. His eyes were so clear in the afternoon light, bursting with emotion. Sometimes she still couldn't believe how much love he was able to fit in them. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Stiles assured her. “But you could, if you wanted— you know that, right? No matter what it is, Lydia, it’s not gonna change anything.” 

“I know,” she whispered, resting her chin on his chest. “I want to tell you. But— I don’t know if I can say it.” 

His eyes were even more concerned now, his hand playing absentmindedly with her mussed curls. She worried her lip, trying to figure out how in the galaxy to start. 

“Did— did Scott tell you about who his real mother is?” Lydia asked. Stiles nodded, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, right after we got back to base,” he told her. “Why?” 

“Well,” Lydia said, her breath shaky, hoping he would make the connection so she wouldn’t have to say it. He was the one who always figured it out. “I’m his sister.” 

Recognition dawned on his face, his eyebrows raising momentarily, eyes a little wide. She gnawed nervously on her lip, her grip on his shoulder tightening a little, waiting for him to say  _ something.  _

“Oh, kest, Lydia,” he exhaled finally, smoothing a hand over her back. “I— I should have realized that. Oh, gods— I’m sorry. That’s really shitty.” 

“That’s it?” she asked, almost hesitantly, still not sure if she wanted to hear the answer. “You’re not— this doesn’t change anything?” 

Stiles gave her a look of such pure confusion that, in a different moment, Lydia probably would have laughed. “Why would that change anything?” he asked. “It didn’t change anything about Scott, either.” 

“But Vader tortured you,” Lydia whispered. “She’s the reason you were asleep for a  _ year.”  _

“So?” Stiles asked again. He gave her a look so tender, his eyes alight with soft affection. “It’s just genes, Lydia. That’s all you have in common with her. And that could never change how I see you.” He laughed. “I don’t even  _ know _ who my dad is. He could be Emperor Hale, for all I know.” 

Now Lydia laughed softly, nuzzling her head into his shoulder, their noses almost brushing. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath fluttering against her skin. “Nothing is  _ ever _ gonna change that.” 

“I love you too,” she murmured back, tilting her head up to kiss him sweetly, sighing contently into his mouth. They broke apart, and Lydia snuggled in closer to his side, thinking that the heavy weight of his hand on her bare lower back, the feel of their legs tangled together— this was the best feeling in the galaxy. 

They were silent for a while, simply basking in the warmth of each other, fit together like puzzle pieces, before Lydia spoke up again. 

“We might actually win this war,” she whispered to him, the thought suddenly dawning on her. “I mean, we still have to take Coruscant, but— the Emperor’s dead. So’s Vader. The Death Star is destroyed again. We might actually have a chance.” 

“I think a pretty good one,” Stiles murmured back. He leaned over, kissing her forehead. “So, princess. What are you gonna do once you don’t have any more battles to fight?” 

Stiles’s question made her freeze. In all her years of fighting, spying, working undercover in the senate, helping the Rebellion, fighting tooth and nail for every inch they crept closer to victory— the finish line had never been this close before. She honestly didn’t know what she would do after she crossed it. 

“I don’t know,” she told him truthfully. “Scott’s going back to Tatooine for a little bit, to see his parents. I think I might go with him— I’d like to meet my grandparents, learn more about Derek. But afterwards—” she paused.  “I’ve been fighting this battle since I was a teenager. I don’t think I ever really thought I’d get to see the end of it. But I— I’m not sure what I’ll do afterwards.” She hesitated. “I want to help. Run the galaxy. Fight for the people. Make sure what happened with the Empire never happens again.” She looked up at Stiles, meeting his eyes. “I know I’m good at what I do here, but I miss politics.”

“I’m sure you will singlehandedly run the New Republic,” Stiles assured her, smiling into her hair. 

“What about you?” Lydia asked, placing her hand on his shoulder, resting her chin on it. “What are you going to do after the fighting’s over?” 

Stiles smirked. “Follow you around, wherever you go.” His smirk melted into a smile, warm and affectionate, and Lydia could feel herself blushing. “Seriously. I’ve never really had a place, or something to go back to, other than Chewie and the Falcon. But I’ll follow you anywhere you go in the galaxy, and then figure out the rest afterwards.” He shrugged slightly, trying not to jostle her chin. “And, you know— I’ve only ever been a smuggler, and you kind of murdered my best client—”

“Hey, he chained me up, and he  _ totally  _ deserved it—” 

“I’m kidding, Lyds,” Stiles laughed, his eyes shining with affection. He kissed the tip of her nose, Lydia smiling sweetly back at him. They fell silent again, the only sound the trill of birds in the trees outside. 

“I like it here,” Lydia whispered. “It’s so peaceful.” 

“Mmm,” Stiles agreed. “Reminds me of Kashyyyk, with the treehouses.” 

“It reminds me of Alderaan,” she whispered, her voice so low that Stiles could barely hear it. She met his eyes again, blinking back the wetness behind her own. “Not everything. The forests are too dense, and Alderaan had mountains, and lakes. But the birds at home— they used to sing like this.” She shook her head, looking away from Stiles’s eyes. “I think, anyway. Maybe I’m remembering it wrong. When you miss something that much, you start to see it in everything.” 

Stiles didn’t say anything, just looked at her, eyes soft, before pulling her into his chest, her head nestling under his chin, one hand stroking through her hair. Somehow he always did that; knew exactly what she needed without her having  to say a word. He had always been good at figuring things out, but he was best at figuring  _ her  _ out.

Even with the hope of a free galaxy, the light at the end of the war in sight,  _ finally, _ Lydia found that she really didn’t want to move from this quiet treehouse, their own secluded corner of the universe. And she knew what Stiles had said was true for her too— she would follow him anywhere, just to stay contently in his arms. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waltzes in a month late with Starbucks* 
> 
> Hey, y'all. I am SO sorry for the impromptu break I took on this story. I kept pushing off editing, and schoolwork kept piling up, and next thing I knew it was a month since my last update. HOWEVER! This story is now 100% finished, and the epilogue is up as well after this one. Thus concludes the Star Wolves story. Thank you for sticking with me-- it means the world! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

By the time they reemerged from the treehouse and rejoined the rest of the Rebellion forces on the ground, it was almost twilight. 

Stiles would have preferred to just stay in their little treehouse for the rest of the day, or night, or whatever, but Lydia was still a general, and even after the battle, she had responsibilities to her troops. 

Plus, Danny had brought the Falcon back, and while he  _ claimed  _ there were no new scratches, Stiles wanted to check for himself. 

He had left Lydia to her general duties, going off to find his beloved ship. Surprisingly, Danny had made good on his promise— she was still in as good of shape as she had been when Danny had taken her. And yes, according to Scott, that still wasn’t good shape, but whatever. Details. 

By the time Stiles had come back, Lydia had finished checking in with her troops and talked to her commanding officers, evidently, because she was nowhere to be found in the small camp the Rebellion had set up on the outskirts of the ewok village. He wandered their little camp, searching for her— before stumbling upon her and Scott, sitting on a fallen log in a secluded little clearing off of the main one. Lydia looked tense, on the verge of either crying or screaming, Stiles couldn’t decide. Scott, however, had that imploring, puppy-dog eyes look on his face that clued Stiles in on  _ exactly  _ what they were discussing— their shared parentage. Stiles swore under his breath, walking into the clearing. He loved Scott like a brother; he was his best friend, but his willingness to forgive Vader most certainly was not going to be something he shared with Lydia. And Scott was so caught up in the whole light side/dark side thing that he couldn’t tell there was literally  _ nothing  _ Lydia would rather discuss less. 

“Hey, guys,” Stiles said, sitting immediately next to Lydia and taking her hand in his, smoothing his thumb over her palm. “What’s going on?” 

Lydia grimaced, her green eyes shining with unshed tears. “Scott wants me to consider—  _ forgiving—  _ Vader,” she managed to get out. Stiles squeezed her hand, letting her know that he was here for her. 

“Lydia, she returned to the light,” Scott implored. “She tried to save us. There was good in her.” 

_ “Stop _ it, Scott!” Lydia snapped, her eyes fiery. Stiles squeezed her hand comfortingly. He could only imagine how difficult it was to listen to Scott beg for her to forgive the woman who had destroyed her home. 

“Lydia,” Scott started, and his voice was apologetic now, but Lydia cut him off, her tone acidic. 

“No,” she almost growled. “Do you know how we got the plans for the Death Star, Scott?” He didn't answer, which Stiles took as a “not really.” 

“Rebels infiltrated the Imperial security complex on Scarif, with a few of them going undercover in the base to find the plans. The rest blew up landing pads, luring the stormtroopers from the base outside into a bloodbath on the beaches.” She paused, both boys focused on her with rapt attention. “The rebel fleet fought above the planet against hundreds of TIE fighters, trying to break down their shields so we could aid our outnumbered troops on the shore. I was  _ there,” _ she said. “I was the escape plan for those blueprints. My ship was docked in one of the larger Rebellion war ships. I saw the  _ whole thing.” _

Scott and Stiles were both silent. Lydia's eyes were still furious, and a silent tear rolled down her cheek. “I watched from above as the Imperial air force  _ destroyed _ our X-Wings,  _ slaughtered _ our foot soldiers. And then, just as we broke the shields, just as we received the plans the rebels beamed up to us, the Death Star appeared. It took up the whole horizon. And they blew up the entire Imperial base with it. Started a tidal wave that wiped the planet clean of sentient beings. No one came off that planet alive.” 

“That wasn't Vader, Lydia—” Scott tried to say, but Lydia snapped at him. 

“I'm not  _ finished, _ Scott.” She took a deep breath, rubbing at her eyes furiously before continuing. “Vader boarded our ship. The one I was docked to. Our soldiers had the plan readout, and they tried to get through the airlock onto the Tantive IV— my ship— to get me the plans. But the door got stuck opening— the gap wasn't big enough for them to get through. Vader got into that airlock. And she killed them all. There were probably twenty troops in that room. She cut them down like paper, slaughtered them like they were  _ animals. _ Unarmed them all with the Force and then ruthlessly killed them  _ anyway.” _ Scott was silent now. “One of them handed the plans off to another soldier through the gap in the door. And they got those plans to me, the Tantive IV detatched, and we entered hyperspace. But Vader killed all those men like they weren't even  _ humans. _ And she's done that a million times. It probably didn’t even  _ phase _ her.” She was crying now, and she reached out for Stiles with her other hand. He took both, squeezing them and rubbing circles on the back of them with his thumbs. “She tortured a nineteen year old  _ defenseless _ girl. She drugged me, stuck me with needles, drilled a hole in my head, starved me, let me bleed in a cold metal cell for days. I wanted to die the  _ entire  _ time I was on that Death Star. And you know how many times she's done that? How many rebels they've captured who have been tortured far worse that I was?” She took a breath, trying to steady her voice. “She made me watch as she pushed a button and destroyed the only home I had ever know. So if you want to forgive her, fine. I can't tell you how to feel.” She swallowed, blinking back tears. “But don't tell  _ me _ how to feel either. That  _ monster _ does not deserve my forgiveness.” 

Scott was silent for a moment. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have— Gods, I’m sorry, Lydia.” 

“It’s—” she shook her head, standing up. “I’m sorry, I just need a minute.” 

Stiles stood with Scott, watching her walk into the woods, disappearing from their line of sight. Scott sighed dejectedly, staring down at his hands. His face was riddled with guilt. 

“Scotty,” Stiles said, approaching his best friend. 

Scott shook his head. “No, I know. I shouldn’t have tried to get Lydia to forgive her.  I can’t make her think anything, and I shouldn’t want to. I just—” Stiles remained silent, letting his friend talk. Scott sighed. “She saved us. She turned back to the light side, right before she died. And she saved me. She helped restore balance to the Force.”

“Hey, just because Lydia doesn't want to forgive her doesn’t mean you can’t, Scott,” Stiles said, resting a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Okay? What she says doesn’t have to change how  _ you  _ think of her.” Personally, Stiles completely agreed with Lydia, and while he knew Scott wasn’t trying to erase the horrible things that Vader had done, he also knew his best friend. “Scott, one of the things that makes you so good is that you give everyone a second chance. You try to see the good in people.” He exhaled. “If it had been me up on the Death Star, in your place, I would have killed Vader. But you’re better than me. You try to  _ save  _ people. Save  _ everyone.” _ He paused again. “That’s what makes you a hero.” 

“I’m not— I don’t want Lydia to think that I’m trying to erase what she’s done,” Scott said, his voice low. “But I knew how she really felt about it. I know how it feels to have Peter in your head. I think, given the chance, Jennifer would have done things differently.” 

“Then  _ tell  _ her that,” Stiles said. “You’re allowed to have different opinions, and you’re allowed to disagree. And you know why she’s so sensitive about this. Because of what Vader’s taken from her.” 

“And I don’t blame her,” Scott said immediately. “I just… I just want her to be able to forgive her someday. Come to terms with where we come from.” 

“I think that’s probably gonna need to happen,” Stiles said. “And it’s definitely something you two are going to have to talk about. But Scott— just let it be for now, okay? She’s gonna need a lot of time.” 

“Yeah,” Scott said, nodding his head. He looked up, his eyes finding the faint outline of Lydia in the trees beyond the clearing. “I’m gonna go talk to her. Not about Jennifer. Just— I’m her brother.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, clapping Scott on the back. “Comm if you need me.” 

Stiles retreated from the clearing, Scott hesitantly following Lydia into the woods. She turned around at the sound of his approaching footsteps, scrubbing under her eyes violently, erasing the tear tracks there. 

“Hey,” Scott said quietly, standing awkwardly above her from her spot on the ground. “Uh, can I sit?” Lydia nodded quietly, and Scott sunk to the forest floor, tucking his legs under himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he immediately said, hitting Lydia with those big brown puppy-dog eyes. “You’re totally right, I shouldn’t try to make you forgive her. You can think whatever you want of her.” He paused, his expression imploring again. “And I hope you know, I’m not trying to erase what she did to you. There’s no excuse for everything you went through on the Death Star.” 

Lydia nodded, a tear leaking out of her eye again, tracing down her cheek in the leftover tracks there. “I know,” she said, voice low. “I know you mean well, Scott. And I wish I could forgive people the way you can.” She shook her head again, eyes trained on the forest floor as she reached over, slowly taking her brother’s hand. It was bigger than hers, warm and comforting, and he squeezed it, letting her know he was there. “I’m just—” she started, still unable to look Scott in the eye. “These powers I have, that come from her— they terrify me, Scott,” she admitted, finally looking up, meeting his eyes. “And I have no idea how to use them. What if I turn into her?” 

Scott shook his head, his eyes soft but his expression adamant. “You’re not going to, Lydia,” he assured her. 

She almost laughed. “That’s easy for you to say. You know how to control this.” 

Now it was Scott’s turn to laugh. “I usually have no idea what I’m doing,” he confided. Shaking his head a little in disbelief, he continued. “Actually, I  _ always  _ have no idea what I’m doing.” 

Lydia looked down again. “Yeah, but you trained with Talia. She taught you how to… reign this in, or channel it, or  _ something.  _ Something so I don’t just have… voices whispering in my head all day.” 

“You hear voices?” Scott asked, his expression adorably confused again. She sighed, looking away from her brother. 

“I used to just get— whispers,” she told him. “Once in a while. When Alderaan was destroyed. Sometimes during battles, or when people were in danger. They were so quiet, I thought I was imagining them. But since the Death Star today—” she broke off, looking back at Scott. “That was the loudest they’ve ever been. When I was in a room with Peter. And right before I screamed— that was all I could hear. These  _ voices  _ in my head. And they’re there now, still whispering.” She laughed bitterly. “I sound  _ crazy.” _

“No,” Scott said, squeezing her hand. “And I think maybe I can help. Help you channel the Force. Get them under control.” 

“Really?” Lydia asked, trying not to let herself get  _ too  _ hopeful. 

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Talia taught me to meditate, to channel the Force while your mind is completely blank. It helps you control your powers a lot.”

“Okay,” Lydia said, sitting up straight. “How do I do it?”

Scott paused, thinking how best to explain what Talia had taught him. “I know your powers are different than mine,” he said. “But they both come from the Force. When you think about your powers, try to find the source of them. The Force feels like it’s buzzing, or something, charging your body. Can you feel that?” 

Lydia tried to search through her powers for its beginning, sift through the voices and find their source. Her body buzzed, just like Scott said, the feeling of energy flowing through her almost overwhelming. But Scott squeezed her hand, reassuring her that he was there, and she took a deep breath. She could do this. 

“I feel it,” she told Scott, nodding her head slightly. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Scott said. “Now close your eyes. Force everything out of your head except for the source of your powers. Let it go through you, fill you up. Don’t think about anything but the Force.” 

Lydia’s eyes slid closed, and she tried to push every thought she had— the war, the battle, Vader, Stiles, the galaxy, the Death Star— she tried to shove them all out of her mind. The voices were there, dancing on the edge of her thoughts, but she tried to concentrate, force them out. Her mind slowly went blank, the only thing filling her thoughts the sound of the buzzing. She let it flow through her, arch between her fingers and toes, tickle her bones and weave between her muscles, fill every single space of her being. And then, her mind went silent. 

Lydia’s eyes flew open, and she was on Alderaan. 

She almost sobbed at the familiar landscape— she was on the stone terrace of the palace, right outside her mother’s chambers. It had always been her favorite place to escape, read, just sit and  _ be— _ the beautiful view of the rolling fields, the dark green forests edging the fields of wildflowers, the snowy mountains and the pure blue sky, frosty waterfalls cascading from the peaks— everything was just as she remembered. She never thought she would get to see this again. 

Scott wasn’t by her side anymore, and she knew, intrinsically, that this wasn’t real— still, she just soaked up the clean, cool air, the smells of the flowers from the gardens, so many blooms native to Alderaan that she hadn’t smelled in years— her favorite little purple blossoms, growing right on the terrace, their scent so sweet and clean. The sounds of birds echoed in the air, and Lydia was just so glad to see it all again. There was nothing she missed more than home. 

She turned around, away from the landscape and towards the palace, and this time, she did sob.

Her mother was standing in the doorway.

_ “Mom,”  _ Lydia breathed, her voice strangled, and she didn’t care that this couldn’t be real; she threw herself at her mother. 

“Sweetheart,” Natalie crooned, smoothing Lydia’s hair, her arms warm and solid and familiar around her daughter. She pulled back, cupping Lydia’s face in her hands. “Oh, look at you.” 

“I— Mom, I’m so— I miss you  _ so _ much. I’m so sorry,” Lydia choked out, her eyes blurred with tears. Natalie shook her head, smoothing her daughter’s hair again. 

“No. This is not your fault. Not at all. You got those plans to the Rebellion. You saved them all. And now, you’re going to save the  _ galaxy.” _ Natalie smiled, and Lydia ached at how much she missed seeing her mother’s smile. “I am so proud of you,” she assured her daughter. “And I don’t want you to blame yourself for Alderaan. It was  _ not  _ your fault at all.” 

Natalie wrapped her arms around Lydia again, and Lydia buried her head in her mother’s shoulder, inhaling her scent, reveling in the feeling of being held by her again. If this was a dream, she almost never wanted to wake up. 

“You found your brother,” Natalie whispered to Lydia, who pulled away, looking into her mother’s eyes.

“You knew about Scott?” Lydia demanded. “You said you didn’t even know who my parents were.” 

“Of course I knew about Scott,” Natalie said, her hands still on her daughter’s shoulders. “I was there when both of you were born. Derek and Talia, they told me that I could never tell you where you really came from— that Peter would be able to find you.” 

“So you know,” Lydia asked again, knowing her mother would know what she was referring to.

Natalie smiled sadly. “Yes. I know about your real mother. I knew Jennifer too, back when the Pack was still alive and she and Derek were inseparable. But sweetie— what she did, what she has done— that doesn’t mean anything for you.  _ You  _ decide what you are. Not her, or any blood of hers that runs through your veins.” She paused. “I’m so proud of you,” she repeated. “Don’t be scared of who you are because of who Jennifer was.” 

“You were there when we were born?” Lydia asked, going back to what her mother had said before. 

Natalie nodded. “Derek and I, and Braeden, and Alan— were were all working together, forming a resistance against the Republic, because our democracy was failing. We were good friends. We all had our  _ suspicions  _ about Jennifer and Derek, but…” Natalie shook her head. “When the Pack fell and the Republic crumbled,  _ you  _ two were suddenly in the galaxy, and Talia thought you’d be the key to everything. Our saving grace. We had to keep you safe.” She smiled at Lydia, stroking her cheek. “Braeden helped me smuggle you to Alderaan. I… I had always wanted a daughter. And I thought our peaceful planet could be a safe haven for you, before you went on to fulfill your destiny.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lydia said, a sad smile playing at her lips. “I doomed you all.” 

“No, honey,” Natalie insisted, smile soft. “You  _ saved  _ us all. And I am  _ so  _ proud of you.” 

Lydia’s mother hugged her tightly again, and the voices began to whisper again in Lydia’s mind. The bird calls softened. The sweet scent of the air faded. 

“I don’t want to leave you, Mom,” Lydia cried, clutching her mother. Natalie petted her hair again, shaking her head gently. 

“I’m always right here, honey,” she assured her daughter. “Whenever you need me. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Lydia told her, squeezing her tight, shutting her eyes. 

When she opened them again, she was hand in hand with Scott on the forest floor of Endor. 

“Lydia, are you okay?” Scott asked immediately, his voice slightly panicky. “You’re crying.” 

She turned to look at Scott, her eyes wide. “I saw my mom,” she said. “ I was on Alderaan.”

Scott’s jaw dropped, his expression shocked. “What?” 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen?” she asked. Scott shook his head. 

“I don’t think so,” he told her. “I mean, the first time I really got it to work, I saw you and Stiles on Cloud City, but I think that was more your powers than mine anyways.” He shook his head. “Maybe it’s a banshee thing?” 

“Maybe,” Lydia said. Regardless of how it had happened— she was just glad she’d gotten to see her mother again. 

She looked up at Scott, staring into his warm eyes. She had always wondered what it would have been like to grow up with her birth parents, not as a princess of Alderaan. Now she wondered what her childhood would have been like if Scott had been in it.

“Thank you, Scott,” she said, taking his hand, squeezing it. “I… the voices… they’re quieter now.” She swallowed, glancing back at him quickly. “Thank you for helping me.” 

“Hey, what are long-lost supernatural siblings for?” he joked, his smiled growing wider. She laughed along with him, but then Scott’s eyes grew sincere, his expression softening a little. “Anytime, though, okay?” He paused, looking at her with those big brown eyes. “I still don’t completely know what  _ I’m  _ doing either. We can figure this out together, alright?”  

“Alright,” Lydia agreed. She squeezed his hand again, relaxing a little in the comfort and certainty of his expression. With her brother by her side— maybe this whole supernatural powers thing wasn’t as daunting as she had once thought. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, here it is. The FINAL chapter of the final story of the Star Wolves series. 
> 
> This series is the first fic that I ever wrote, and writing A New Bite is what got me into fanfiction in the first place. It's crazy to think that it's been over two and a half years since I started working on this, and that I've written more than forty other fics in the time since. 
> 
> A huge, huge thank you to anyone who's let me rant about this fic to them, who's read over and found my typos, who's encouraged me when I wanted to give up. Big shoutout to my sister, who routinely took three hour walks on the beach with me so we could work out plot issues last summer while I was writing this. And thank you to every single person who's read this, commented, or supported this series in some way. Hearing about how you love this universe makes me unbelievably happy, and gave me the dedication and energy to finish this series. 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy the end of this. I've had so much fun writing it. I would love to hear what you thought of this, and I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you want to come find me. Thank you, thank you, thank you again. 
> 
> And with that-- I hope you enjoy!

Later that night, basking in the glow of their victory, Scott couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so happy. 

The Death Star was gone, the Emperor dead, the Empire crumbling, their forces left weak and uncoordinated. He knew the war was long from over— Lydia, her face still war-hardened, was already talking about the beginnings of plans for taking Coruscant, then the other major deep core planets, but for now, Chancellor Deaton had given them all the night off, and they were celebrating. 

After Scott had helped her get her powers in check a little bit, Lydia had returned to the camp, saying she had to speak with the Chancellor. She seemed so much more steady and grounded afterwards, but Scott still couldn’t believe she’d seen her mother, been to Alderaan in her visions. He was glad he had seemed to help, but there was still so much more about her powers they simply didn’t know. Scott had a sneaking suspicion that wouldn’t be the case for long, though— Stiles had a thing for research, and an even bigger thing for helping Lydia. If there was anything he could dig up, he would. 

News of their victory was spreading, despite the Empire’s censorship of the media. Clearly their grip was already sliding, because Lydia had shown them the holonews she had streamed in on her holopad— planets everywhere were throwing parties. There was a parade on Naboo, and fireworks on Coruscant, and dozens of other planets rejoicing, sentients flooding the streets and celebrating the beginning of the end of the Empire's reign of terror. There had even been a brief flash of street parties in Mos Espa on Tatooine and fireworks on Lothal, and if the outer rim was celebrating, then they  _ really _ had done something right. 

The party they were having now wasn't as fashionable or modern or elaborate as the other celebrations spreading throughout the galaxy, but to Scott, it felt perfect. The ewoks had graciously allowed the Rebel fleet to stay in their village overnight, and now they were celebrating around large bonfires on the forest floor, dancing to the tribal music the ewoks played, drinking and partying and reveling in their night of freedom before their brutal campaign wore on, the stars twinkling brightly in the dark night sky above the forest canopy. 

Lydia looked happier now, after their meditation session, back in the dress the ewoks had given her, her long hair cascading down her back instead of wound up in military braids. She and Stiles had been attached at the hip since they’d set foot back on the planet this morning, and now was no exception— he stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on her head as she spoke to Isaac by one of the bonfires. Scott was glad Lydia had Stiles there for her, always. He had seen her, when Stiles had been in carbonite, and Lydia managed, stayed strong and brave and made it through, gave the Rebellion everything she could— but there was just something about her and Stiles. They were good together.  _ Better _ together. The two of them had a connection like Scott had never seen, and it made them stronger. With the rest of the war, Lydia’s unknown powers, the forging of a new galaxy— they were going to need each other. 

“Hey,” a voice said, and Scott turned, coming face to face with Allison. A smile broke out over his face involuntarily, and she grinned back, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink, her chocolatey eyes warm in the firelight. 

“Hey,” he echoed, and he could feel the warmth of Allison’s hand hanging right next to his, energy buzzing in the inch between them. Gently, he nudged her palm with his fingers, his heart speeding up as she wove her fingers through his, her smile small but absolutely  _ radiant.  _

Scott still didn’t know her that well; really, when he thought about it, they had never really had that much time to just  _ them  _ before, but there was something undeniable about her that just drew Scott in. And maybe now, with the end of the war so much closer in sight, there was a chance that that undeniable  _ something  _ could turn into something  _ real.  _

“You did it,” Allison said, voice soft, and Scott’s heart sped up at the way she leaned into him, like gravity was pulling them together. “You saved the galaxy, Scott.” 

He shook his head immediately, because that, he knew, wasn’t true. “No,” he told her, surveying the people around him. Fighter pilots, generals, foot soldiers. Tech officers. Medics. Ewoks and smugglers and princesses and  _ nobodies,  _ all come together to fight for a better galaxy they knew they could create.  _ “We  _ did this,” Scott amended, looking down to meet Allison’s eyes. “I… no one did this by themselves. This wouldn’t have happened without  _ everybody.”  _

Allison nodded, falling silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” she finally said, but there was a joking smile playing at her lips, a glint in her eyes that made Scott grin. “I think Lydia can be held responsible for  _ a lot  _ of this.” 

He laughed, leaning into her. “Yeah, okay. You have a point there.” 

Scott glanced around the clearing again, his eyes finally falling on his friends, now seated on one of the logs surrounding a bonfire. Isaac had walked away from them, but Danny was sitting across from them, speaking to General Morell behind him. “Come on,” Allison whispered, her hand still warm in Scott’s as she tugged him over to the fire. Stiles turned his head at his best friend's arrival, his hands still tangled in Lydia's as Scott sat next to him, Allison on his other side. 

“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles greeted, a huge grin stretching across his face. “You hangin' in there?” 

It had been a long campaign; though it had barely lasted two days, Scott had been emotionally and physically drained from the entire ordeal. Sitting here now with Stiles and Lydia and Allison, though— he knew there was a long battle ahead, but now they could see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Yeah,” Scott replied. He smiled back at his best friend, glancing to the other side of the fire, where Danny was flirting with one of the Imperial defector pilots, Ethan, and Artoo and Threepio were dancing with a group of ewoks. Past them, though, on the very outskirts of the clearing, practically in the dense trees, was something that made Scott's heart stutter. Three ghosts watched them, all in long Jedi robes, with peaceful, serene smiles on their faces, and Scott could  _ feel _ the balance in the Force, the way the hum was calmer, more steady than he had ever felt it before. He recognized the two ghosts— Derek, a rare smile across his face, and Talia, pride shining in her eyes, but the third— the third he'd never seen before. Dark, unruly curls fell down her back, and even though her eyes were full of sadness, pride radiated from the small smile on her face. She didn't look a day over twenty five, but there wasn't a single doubt in Scott's mind— this was his mother. Not Darth Vader, but the woman she had been before— a warrior, a friend, a Jedi Wolf. That ghost was Jennifer Blake. 

Scott smiled at his mother, and at his father, and at his master, and they all beamed back at him. Derek said something to Talia, smirking, and Talia rolled her eyes at him. Jennifer looked at the other two hesitantly, as if she wasn't really sure she was allowed to be there, but Derek looked over, meeting her eyes, a small, gentle smile playing across his face as he took her hand, squeezing it.  Jennifer looked away from his father, back to Scott, and nodded her head slowly. Scott could hear her apology for everything reverberating through the Force— for her fall to the dark side, for the gruesome deeds she had committed, for almost sacrificing her son and daughter to the darkness— and Scott nodded his head back. In his mind, Jennifer was forgiven. She’d repented, she’d returned to the light, and she had helped Scott bring balance to the Force, like he was meant to do. His parents smiled at him, and Jennifer’s eyes shifted from her son to her daughter, still sitting next to Scott by the fire. 

“Scott,” Stiles's voice interrupted. Scott tore his eyes away from the Jedi watching over them, meeting Stiles's eyes. His friend looked concerned, but more amused than worried, watching Scott staring off into space. He  _ clearly _ couldn't see the Force-ghosts, as he wasn't Force sensitive, but by Lydia's equally confused expression, she couldn't see them either. They had chosen to appear only to him, which was probably good. While Scott had forgiven their mother, he didn't think Lydia could handle seeing her as anything other than the monster who had tortured her and destroyed her home. 

“You okay, Scott?” Allison asked, squeezing his hand. He nodded, turning to look at the girl sitting next to him, before his eyes slid to Stiles. 

“You sure, buddy?” Stiles said, a bemused grin playing at his face. “You're staring off into the forest like you see a ghost.” 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Scott said, internally laughing at the irony in Stiles's words. Lydia gave her brother a skeptical look, while Allison squeezed his hand, her smile gentle. “I'm just— I'm really happy,” he continued. “That we won this fight, that the end of the war is almost here. That we all made it out okay.” 

“What would we do without your unbridled optimism, huh?” Stiles asked, grinning at his friend. Scott smiled back, regarding his three best friends. 

“It's funny, isn't it?” he asked, looking at all of them, their eyes shining with joy and comfort and  _ relief _ . 

“What's funny?” Lydia asked, looking at him, Stiles's arm still slung over her shoulder. She grabbed Stiles's hand with hers, lacing their fingers together. 

“That we all met each other,” Scott replied, glancing at the fire in front of them, Allison’s hand still warm in his. “Out of the trillions of sentients in the galaxy, us four came together.” 

Scott couldn’t help but think about it. He’d been alone on a deserted rock of a planet for most of his life when he stumbled into Stiles, who inadvertently brought him to his twin sister, who had brought him to Allison. And then the four of them had saved the  _ galaxy  _ together. Everything felt calm now, the fire burning bright in front of them, music drifting through the clearing, everyone smiling and laughing and dancing in celebration of their victory, but not that long ago— not that long ago, Scott had been on the edge of breaking. Of turning to the dark side. And if he hadn’t met the three people sitting around him, these people who had believed him when he sounded crazy, rushed after him into battle time and time again, and had never given up on him— if he didn’t have Stiles, Lydia, and Allison, he probably would have turned up on the Death Star. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott, looking skeptical. “What are you insinuating, Scotty?”

Scott shrugged, the fire in front of them crackling merrily. “I don't know. But it can't be a coincidence.” 

Stiles scoffed, his hand still in Lydia’s, his eyes full of light. “There's no such thing as fate.” 

Scott looked between his best friend, his girlfriend, and his sister, a challenging grin on his face. 

“There's no such thing as werewolves.”


End file.
